Keeper
by windscryer
Summary: Lassiter finally gets the proof he needs to bring Shawn Spencer's psychic charade to a screeching halt. If only it was that simple . . . Futurefic. Shules. NSN 2.
1. Prologue: Famous Last Words

A disclaimer in haiku:

Lassie-face hates Shawn.

Shawn knows he loves Juliet.

I don't own Psych. Truth.

Spoilers: Uh . . . super mild ones for _9 Lives_ . . . um . . . _Game, Set . . . Muuurder_ maybe . . . Srsly, I don't know that any of them are really anything to worry about.

Oh there is a MAJOR one from the pilot, but, Dude, if you haven't seen that yet why are you even here? ;D

Thanks go to Lily and MusicalLuna, the two bestest betas in existence. Without them this story would have been a third of what it is in both length and quality. Ladies, you rock the house. :D

Also thanks go to Emily...Omelet without whose excellent knowledge of Psych episodes in the face of extreme blondeness this story would never have been finished. You rock too!

No canon characters were permanently harmed in the making of this fic. (Although it was a close one for some of them, believe you me. coughcoughHenrycoughcough)

**September 2006**

Shawn and Gus entered the spacious entryway of the McCallum home, their eyes taking in the lavishly decorated rooms, high ceilings, and numerous police officers present.

"Whoa," Shawn said in appreciation. He half laughed at the thought of what living in a place like this must be like, but pushed it aside almost immediately. He was a professional—or at least a reasonable facsimile of one—and he had to act the part.

"Now just, act natural," he reminded Gus as they found the large living room where Detectives Lassiter and Barry were conducting their investigation.

He and Gus stopped in the doorway and Shawn cleared his throat and smiled. He also adjusted his hands on the CD case he'd appropriated from the trashcan outside to make it less obvious.

Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look as a hush fell over the room.

Shawn's smile widened and then Gus grabbed his arm and pushed him back into the hallway.

"They know."

"How could they know?" Shawn asked.

"They know_,_" Gus repeated.

"We haven't said anything yet," Shawn countered.

"They _know," _Gus insisted. "I can feel it."

"Oh. You're a psychic now, too?" Shawn asked sarcastically.

"You're not a psychic," Gus reminded his friend.

Shawn glanced at the room full of witnesses and then pushed Gus a little further away and lowered his voice.

"Gus, let's just be clear on one thing. The only way they can absolutely prove that I am not a psychic is if I tell them. And I can guarantee you that is the one thing I will _never_ do."

* * *

Soo . . . intrigued yet?

I know I am! :D

Please be kind and review.


	2. 1 A Tangled Web Was Woven

Chapter 1: A Tangled Web Was Woven

Also, I did mention this was a future fic, right? And shamelessly Shawn/Juliet?

Well now I did. If it ain't your cup of tuna turn back now. ;D

* * *

**September 2013**

Lassiter was going over the photos from the crime scene of his current top case, a murder of a young man in an upscale neighborhood with remarkably low crime statistics, when the phone rang. He picked it up without looking away from the gruesome shot of the victim he was currently scrutinizing.

"Lassiter."

"_Detective, I have an anonymous caller on hold. He says he has information about a crime."_

"Don't we have a hotline for that?"

"_He requested to speak to you specifically."_

Lassiter set the picture down and leaned back, rubbing at his eyes. He should probably tell the sergeant to transfer the call to the hotline, but this case was big enough to warrant a press conference, snippets of which had been airing on the news for the last week. He really could use a break and if he scared them off by ignoring them . . .

"Put it through."

A click, a pause, and a second click later he repeated, "Lassiter." He picked up one of the pictures, his gaze focused on the gunshot wound in the young man's chest and wondered if the second ballistics report was done yet.

"_Detective Lassiter, I have information for you regarding a crime."_

"What crime?" he asked distractedly and looked around for his partner. She wasn't immediately visible so he flagged down a junior officer and waved him over. "Check with ballistics," he said quietly and pointed to the case folder.

His impromptu assistant nodded and hurried off to do as he'd been told in true eager beaver rookie style.

"_Shawn Spencer works for your department as a 'psychic' consultant, doesn't he?" _the anonymous voice asked.

Lassiter sighed and wiped a hand over his face. He should have known. Half the calls that came his way were about Shawn. Did he look like he was the other man's secretary or press agent or fan club president or something?

He knew what to say now because he'd been counseled on the proper way to respond to such calls—most of which came from the press, though a few were either fans, potential clients for the psychic detective's private agency, or claiming to be psychics themselves. Unfortunately it was not the way he'd _like_ to respond to them.

Whoever they were, though, they got the same answer.

"Any and all inquiries regarding Mr. Spencer should be directed to the department's public affairs office. I can transfer you-"

He was interrupted with an annoyed, _"I'm not making an 'inquiry'. I have information about him."_

"Oh. Someone calling with answers instead of questions,"Lassiter said sarcastically, his own temper flaring at being cut off and snapped at. "This is novel. Go right ahead. Wait, let me get a pen so I can write this down." He picked up his coffee mug and took a drink. "Okay. I'm ready."

There was a brief pause, for drama or because Lassiter had pissed him off the detective neither knew nor cared.

"_Shawn Spencer is not a psychic."_

"Really!" he exclaimed with patently fake exuberance as he rolled his eyes. Like they didn't get one of these every month. "Well let me call the press. Can you hold?"

A deep breath was inhaled and exhaled.

"_I am serious."_

"Yeah," Lassiter said, done having fun. He picked up the witness statement from the sister who'd found the vic and skimmed it. "And I'm busy. Do you have any proof of your claim?" He found a pen and made a note to have Juliet follow up with the girl in a phone call to clarify a few things.

"_Finding the evidence is supposed to be your job, isn't it, Detective?"_

The quiet background noises of a busy police department filled the line for a few long seconds as Lassiter stopped what he was doing and bit back his first response to _that_ mistake of a tactic.

"The department has investigated Mr. Spencer, but to date there are no conclusive scientific tests to determine whether or not someone has psychic abilities. He has demonstrated the ability to know things that he shouldn't so he's allowed to _occasionally _assist with an investigation. If you have proof that he's not psychic I will gladly listen and I may even be willing to make arrangements to meet with you. If you don't though, I have other crimes to investigate."

"_Detective, I have done my homework. You don't believe Shawn Spencer is a psychic any more than I do."_

Lassiter sighed and dropped the pen, running his free hand through his hair.

"Look, between you and me I've had my doubts since day one," he confessed. "But the fact of the matter is Chief Vick believes he's worth keeping around and unless you can provide me with proof that he's not really psychic, there's nothing I can do."

"_I see," _was the cold response. _"Thank you for your time, Detective."_

The click and dial tone of a hang up followed and Lassiter replaced the phone on the cradle with a shake of his head, then went back to solving a homicide.

o.o

**October 2013**

It was days like today that Lassiter considered retiring.

Not that he was old. Forty-two wasn't old in his book.

Today, however, he felt like he was seventy-two. It was getting harder to keep up with the younger guys and he was questioning whether or not it was even worth trying anymore.

He walked up the steps of his house and grunted as he crouched to scratch Dinah between the ears when she came running from around the back. The shorthaired tuxedo cat had been a gift from Shawn on his fortieth birthday. Carlton was pretty sure it had been intended as a joke and that Shawn had expected the cat back. So he'd kept her just to thwart the other man's plans.

Oddly, he didn't regret it. He wasn't a cat person by nature, but Dinah—named for his beloved grandmother who had kept cats—was an exceptionally affectionate feline and he'd found over time that he enjoyed the company.

And being greeted every evening with a happy purr was a much better alternative to being yelled at by his ex-wife or the silence of an empty house.

He straightened after a few moments and unlocked the door, letting Dinah slip inside before him as he grabbed the mail from the box next to the entrance.

Most of it was expected and not terribly interesting—bills and junk mail and such—but there was one thing that caught his eye: a DVD in a slim jewel case that had obviously not come through the mail.

Scrawled in black Sharpie over the disc label were the words, 'Is this proof enough, Detective?'

He considered that as he shut the door and set the mail and his briefcase aside.

Before he could decide what exactly to do about it though Dinah began meowing and pawing at his ankles. It was dinnertime and he was dawdling.

He took the DVD into the kitchen and set it on the counter while he emptied a can of food onto Dinah's plate and refilled her water.

He glanced at it again as he began making his own dinner, but left it where it was for the moment. Boiling water for pasta and getting out a saucepan to brown some meat he focused his hands on the preparation of spaghetti and let his mind work on this new mystery.

Actually, it wasn't new though. He was more than a little sure that this was related to that tip from a month ago.

Since the caller had hung up when proof was demanded, Carlton thought that would be the end of it. It usually was.

But the appearance of the DVD tonight changed things. Or it might if it actually had proof. He wasn't holding his breath.

He finished cooking and ate his solitary meal, then cleaned up. While he was drying his hands after doing the dishes his gaze strayed to the jewel case once more.

He really should go over those witness statements again. He had a feeling that there was something in them he was missing.

With an aggrieved sigh and a roll of his eyes he snagged the DVD and went to retrieve his briefcase.

He'd see what was on the disc just to satisfy his morbid curiosity, then get back to real work and review the statements.

o.o

The picture quality wasn't that great. A cheap security camera—the kind available at any online 'spy gadget' store—was most likely what was used. The audio wasn't much better.

But both were good enough that there was no mistaking the subjects or their topic of discussion.

"_I don't know, Gus, I channel the victim a lot," _Shawn said as he paced in the open area between the desks of the Psych office. He tossed a ball back and forth between his hands as he walked._ "I don't want it to get old."_

"_It's the _victim_, Shawn," _Gus countered. "_It's classic and it makes sense. Who else would really want the case solved? A grandmother that's been dead fifteen years?_"

"_Maybe,"_ Shawn said, sounding like he was really considering it. "_She wants to see her dear grandson again, but can't because he's trapped by his unfinished business."_

"_So even though she 'passed on' to the 'other side' she came back to help her grandson?"_ Gus asked dubiously.

Shawn stopped and spread his hands. "_She really loves him. Wouldn't your grandmother do that for you?_"

"_Granny Raleigh is still alive. And Granny Guster refused to speak to my family after the incident with her pet bird and the garbage disposal. So no._"

"_'Her pet bird and the garbage disposal'?" _Shawn repeated, distracted from his conundrum.

"_A yellow parakeet named Liberace. Don't ask," _he said at the look that garnered, then continued.

"_In my defense I was only four. How was I supposed to know that he would follow that stupid belled ball of his down there? I wasn't even the one that turned it on. That was my cousin Adrina's fault. But you didn't see her family being kicked out of the house and told never to come back," he finished with just a dollop of bitterness._

Shawn stared in disbelief, then shook it off. _"How have I never heard this story before? No, you know what? I don't _want_ to know. Besides, right now we need to come up with a solid witness for me to channel."_

He resumed tossing the ball and pacing, then said,_ "And I don't think I like this one either. Especially now that when I think of grandmothers I'm going to think of why pet parakeets should be kept away from you and garbage disposals." _ He turned and shot a suspicious look at his best friend when he said this.

"_It wasn't my fault!" _Gus insisted.

Shawn ignored him and continued his short walk.

"_We need something el— The dog!" _he exclaimed and spun, pointing a finger at his partner._ "He had a dog, right?"_

"_Shawn, you remember _everything_. I know you remember that monster of a German shepherd. He tried to eat your sneakers when we broke into their house."_

"_He was just sniffing them," _Shawn said dismissively. _"Wasn't he a retired police dog?"_

"_So?_"

"_So who better to demand justice than a retired cop? I can 'channel' the dog. Like I did with that little boy cat way back when."_

"_The one you gave to McNabb?"_

"_That's the one. But this is better. Since the dog was a _police_ dog he'd notice things that other dogs might not." _ He put his fingers to his head like he was having one of his visions and deepened his voice, changing the cadence to sound more like a human cop giving the report. "_The intruder was a white male, approximately six feet tall, two hundred and fifty pounds. He had black sneakers and he'd recently been through the park. I could smell the hot dogs and French fry grease from the vendor that operates at the west entrance. He was wearing black jeans and a dark blue, hooded sweatshirt to conceal his face."_

"_Shawn, dogs can't see colors. How did he know it was blue?_"

"_Good point,"_ Shawn agreed. _"Just a dark sweatshirt then."_

Lassiter watched in shock as they continued to plan the vision that Shawn would have the next day.

It was one that Carlton remembered very clearly and not only because it had happened so recently. It had provided the evidence needed to solve the case and added another tally to Shawn Spencer's impressive record.

It was also the case he'd been working on when he'd received that anonymous tip.

And it was all fake.

This was proof—of a sort—that Shawn Spencer wasn't really psychic.

It didn't say how he did it, but it proved that his 'visions' weren't genuine. They weren't even spontaneous.

Leaning back on the sofa the head detective pondered what to do with this.

His first instinct was to grab the DVD and run down to the station and show it to the chief.

But something stopped him.

He wasn't following through with his instinct and he wasn't immediately sure why.

Shawn Spencer was a fake. He was a fraud. He was a criminal.

But after seven years of working together . . . he was also something of a friend.

It would take sodium pentathol or a LOT of liquor to make that thought appear in verbal or written form, but it was true nonetheless.

He was also married to Carlton's partner—who was a month from delivering Spencer's second child.

Which also made him a father and a breadwinner and . . .

Carlton rose with a snort and went to the DVD player to eject the disc.

And he'd be doing them all a favor if he ended this now. The longer it went on the worse it would be when the truth finally came out.

Spencer might be out in time to see his youngest graduate if Carlton followed his first instinct.

And yet . . . Spencer wasn't _technically_ hurting anyone.

Okay, he was hurting Lassiter's pride. But he wasn't misleading them on cases. Not in a way that hindered them. And he had been _somewhat_ helpful over the years.

What he was doing was wrong, but the end result . . .

Carlton shook his head and replaced the DVD in the case.

The ends didn't justify the means. That was something that didn't change in Carlton Lassiter's rulebook.

But maybe there was another solution to this. One that wouldn't feel so much like betrayal.

At any rate, he decided as he sat down and opened up his briefcase to retrieve the files he needed, he would have to have something more than this one little bit of evidence. It was audio/visual anyway which meant it had to be authenticated and the source verified and right now he couldn't really do either.

And if a little voice in Carlton's head said that he was waffling because he didn't really want to be the one to ruin Shawn Spencer . . . well that was just ridiculous. It had nothing to do with being soft, he just didn't want to look like an idiot. He needed to build a case first.

The voice silenced for now, he focused on the thefts that were a much higher priority and pushed the whole matter aside.

* * *

Review, please and thank you!


	3. 2 Expect the Unexpected

Chapter 2: Expect the Unexpected

* * *

"Good morning, Carlton."

Lassiter turned from locking his car to see his partner with a smile on her face.

"Good morning, Juliet," he started to say as he returned the smile. He wasn't really a morning person but she was, and after seven years he'd long given up on trying to resist her contagious happiness. The fact that she was pregnant and therefore had that extra bit of glowing cheer about her now just clinched it. Resistance was futile.

He was interrupted before he could get past 'morning' though.

"Good _morning_, Lassie-face! Did you catch the sunrise on this beautiful late spring day? It was _fantastic_. Wasn't it, Jules?" Shawn slid an arm around her waist and hugged her, smiling his usual manic grin.

Lassiter's smile dropped away and he sighed as he headed towards the station.

"Spencer," he acknowledged.

"Which one?"

Lassiter stopped, his brow wrinkling as he processed that. When they caught up to him he gave Shawn a look of confusion.

"What?"

"Which Spencer? Me? Or my incredibly, gorgeously pregnant wife?" She slapped him on the chest but the effect was ruined by the grin curving her lips. He responded by kissing her cheek and making her blush.

"Shawn, behave," she reminded him. "We have to be professional here, remember? This is where I—and on occasion, _you_—work."

He pouted but she only arched an eyebrow. With a sigh that implied his actions just might be a mortal blow, he released her and took a half step back, stuffing his hands in his pockets so they'd stay put. The expression on his face was the epitome of a puppy dog scolded for chewing on slippers.

Lassiter, much used to these antics since he'd been repressing his gag reflex for five years now, just said, "I'll be inside. When you're ready to join me, _Detective_ Spencer, you can find me at my desk," and continued on into the station.

Juliet gave Shawn another Look when it seemed he was considering further needling the senior detective.

"What?" he asked in offended innocence.

"Be nice," she warned him, not buying the act at all, then followed her partner in to start the day's work.

Shawn had grown rather fond of sleeping cuddled up to Juliet with his hand on her stomach where a two a.m. kick from a tiny baby foot might awaken him and that wouldn't be possible if he was banished to the couch. So he resisted the urge to respond to her challenge and instead just called, "So I'll see you at lunch then?"

She waved and he waited until she was inside before he spun on a heel and went back to their minivan.

It was less sexy and a _lot_ less fun than a motorcycle, but getting married—and becoming a father—had given him a greater understanding of why his own dad didn't like it. He had others depending on him and he couldn't afford the risks that he'd taken when he was single.

Not that he'd given it up completely. He rode it on the weekends for pleasure and often took Juliet with him. It just wasn't his main mode of transportation anymore.

Besides, a car seat didn't really fit on the back of his beloved bike. Also, helmets were a rule he strictly followed and they didn't make them in infant or toddler sizes. He'd checked.

Spotting the Psychmobile II as he parked at the Psych office told him that Gus had beaten him there. The fact that the blinds were drawn told him that Gus was not happy. He only did that when he didn't want witnesses.

Good thing he'd stopped for donuts.

He entered their somewhat dim domain with a grin on his face and a number of explanations already running through his mind. He just needed to know what had his friend and cohort so grumpy so he could select the right one.

"And how are you doing this fine and lovely morning, Gus?" he asked, adding with a shake of the box for emphasis, "I brought donuts."

The immediate answer was silence and a Gus's scowl remaining firmly focused on his computer screen.

"Come on," Shawn said and sat on the edge of the desk. He opened the box and pulled out a lemon-filled powdered donut—Gus's favorite. Waving it under the other man's nose got him a response, but not the one he wanted.

Expected possibly, but definitely not wanted.

He looked at the donut now sitting on the floor where it had landed after Gus knocked it away and arched an eyebrow.

"Okay, you just defiled a lemon-filled powdered Krispy Kreme. Gus, share with me. What is going on here? Is this about the slushy machine? Because really I think it's financially sound. We drink so many of them . . . it's got to be cheaper than buying them from 7-11 all the time."

Gus deigned to glare at Shawn for a brief—if icy—moment, then went back to his computer.

"So not the slushy machine then."

Shawn was well aware that Gus was playing video games, but decided that maybe this wasn't the best time to call him on it. Perhaps an hour or two of Age of Empires II was just what Gus needed.

"Okay then," he said and stood. "I'm going to go over here to thaw and see if I can restore circulation to my extremities. I can probably still save some of my toes from frostbite if I act now. When you're ready to talk just let me know."

Gus didn't react so he gave up and took a seat behind his desk. He considered going online and maybe challenging Gus to a one-on-one battle to bleed off some of the anger, but discarded that idea almost immediately. Besides the fact that he wasn't keen on having his butt handed to him, he recognized that now was not a good time.

He had narrowed the possibilities of what was causing this down to a handful of options. All of them were the kind of thing that Gus would have to work through on his own at first.

Goofing off would also not help the situation so he left his PSP3 where it was and picked up the file on the Rimini thefts.

He would never admit it, but this one had him stumped.

Over the last three weeks seven jewels had been stolen, each a different kind and all from different sources. The lists of people who'd had access to the jewels were very short and the only thing they had in common was the fact that everyone on them had access to at least one of the missing jewels. No one name appeared on all the lists.

There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the thefts either. No patterns or MOs jumped out and none of the jewels were connected in any way that had yet been discovered.

The ruby and emerald were larger specimens, but the opal, tanzanite, onyx, citrine, and diamond were all fairly small and they had been stolen from stores or collectors who had larger stones available. In the case of the diamond and tanzanite, the larger, higher quality jewels had been in the same storage area so there would have been no additional risk in taking them instead—or as well. The citrine and onyx were taken from drawers that were full of more the same type and quality of stone but only one from each had been removed, seemingly at random. The opal had actually been removed from a setting in a necklace—of which the 24K gold chain and twelve other opals had been left behind.

If Shawn didn't know better he'd think the entire purpose of the thefts was to drive the police—and him—nuts trying to figure out the who and why.

Their burglar—or burglars, but Shawn wasn't buying that theory—were very good. The forensic guys were double and triple checking but so far they didn't have anything at all to go on. Not even a stray hair or clothing fiber in the carpeting that they couldn't identify or place. The jewels might have grown legs and walked out for all the evidence left behind.

If they did find the perpetrator, the only thing that would put him or her in jail would be the recovery of the stones and/or a confession.

Shawn was confident Lassiter could handle wringing a confession out of their suspect. Which meant it was Shawn's job to find said suspect.

He sighed and pulled the crime scene photos out, laying them on his desk in order of occurrence. Closing his eyes and pressing his fingers to his temples he thought back to each of the scenes and tried to see what he'd missed the first fifty times he'd done this.

o.o

Across town at the Santa Barbara Police Department headquarters, Lassiter was dealing with the same headache.

Well, half of the same headache. His concentration had been shot all morning thinking about the DVD. It was the eleventh day in a row of this and he was tired of the mental tug of war for his focus, but he still didn't have a satisfactory answer for the question of what to do so it continued.

Dedication to his badge and his profession dictated that he go straight to Karen.

What might have been loosely termed friendship and maybe a sliver of guilt for even considering reporting it told him that he should throw the disc away and forget it ever existed.

There was a middle ground in there somewhere, he was sure, but he had yet to find it.

Uphold the law as he'd sworn to do or protect a colleague?

He heaved a mental sigh and rolled his eyes.

Okay, fine. He could admit to himself that he'd come to like—and maybe appreciate—Shawn Spencer. Not a lot, mind you. Just enough to make him hesitate to turn Shawn in.

So the question was whether he should give his loyalty to duty or friendship . . .

"I've got the latest from forensics," Juliet said and dropped the file on the desk. It startled him out of his thoughts and he sat forward, giving himself a firm mental shake. Focus on the case, he thought. Leave the other conundrum for after working hours.

"Anything?" he asked as he took the folder.

She gave a soft grunt of discomfort and he looked up to see her shaking her head and rubbing at her lower back/left hip area.

"No," she said. "They're still looking, but nothing had jumped out at them as of eight o'clock this morning."

He frowned, both at the report and the fact that she'd closed her eyes and was breathing with more intent than one generally exercised with an involuntary bodily function.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm fine. Just a little muscle ache." She opened her eyes and straightened. "Did you still want to question the Phillips' Diamond Exchange representative after lunch?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, still distracted by her answer to his question. She didn't look fine. "But I can handle it if you want to take the afternoon off."

She shook her head. "I'll be okay. It's probably just revenge for the way I slept last night."

"At least go sit down and take it easy for now." He checked his watch. "It's almost lunch. You could go early."

She waved the suggestion aside and dug a knuckled fist into her hip again. "Shawn is picking me up. He won't be here for another half hour." She winced and sucked in a sharp breath. "Although I may take you up on that other idea and sit until then."

He watched her go and debated calling Shawn.

Karen had worked right up until the day she delivered and so had Juliet the first time. The book he'd read said that the first pregnancy was usually hardest because it was unknown territory. This was her second. Surely she'd know if this was something to be worried about?

Juliet wouldn't appreciate his tattling on her, he thought as he leaned back. Especially since Shawn had a tendency to go into protective overdrive when it looked like there might be problems.

He'd gotten better as the months passed at either repressing or at least hiding it most of the time, but that was only when Juliet seemed relatively fine. When she wasn't as fine it was a completely different—and somehow both alarming and amusing—story.

Lassiter had often wondered during these last few months why, if Shawn was psychic, he was so very quick to assume the worst. Shouldn't he know if it was that bad? Of course, now Lassiter knew that it was all a ruse, so that was something of an explanation.

But, he thought as he watched Juliet, if there really was something wrong and she was just telling herself it was okay because she didn't want Shawn to worry . . .

He'd just picked up the phone when he heard the question from an officer walking past.

"Detective Spencer? Are you okay?"

He stopped in process of dialing to look up and almost immediately dropped the handset and stood. Juliet was bent over, her face scrunched up with pain as she clutched at the edge of her desk and her hip.

He crossed the hallway in record time and pushed his way through the quickly forming crowd.

"Back off!" he ordered, pushing the gawkers back as he moved forward. "Give her some room."

He finally made it to the center where Juliet was slowly lowering herself to the ground, using her desk as leverage.

He crouched at her side and took her hand to help her sit with her back to the side of her desk. "Juliet?" he said.

She hadn't let go of his hand yet and he didn't try to pull away. Her other hand was rubbing her stomach in slow circles as she breathed deliberately.

"Something's wrong," she said in response to his question.

"Somebody get an ambulance here," he ordered the crowd above them, then returned his attention to her. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She shook her head and sucked in another breath. "I don't know. It just . . . something doesn't feel right."

"Okay, well, we're going to get you to the hospital. Maybe the doctors can find us a better answer, all right?"

She nodded as she puffed out three short breaths Lamaze style.

"You're not going into labor are you?" he demanded with a hint of panic. He'd read the book like he was supposed to, but he really hadn't counted on actually needing it. He was her partner, but Shawn was her husband. He'd gotten her into this situation and as far as Lassiter was concerned he could get her out of it too.

She shook her head. "Too early and this is not how it felt last time," she managed to say. "I'm just trying to distract myself mostly," she explained.

He nodded and looked up. "Where is that ambulance?"

Karen appeared from a split in the crowd just then.

"Let's move it back, people," she directed and where Lassiter's order had gained them a foot or so, Karen's authority got them the beginnings of dispersal. She didn't watch to see it through though, her attention already on Juliet.

"How are you doing, Detective?" she asked.

"It _hurts_," Juliet said frankly through gritted teeth. "I don't know why, but it feels like someone's stabbed a red hot poker into my left butt cheek." She gasped and shifted, trying to relieve a fresh jab of pain. "And they're driving it all the way down my leg," she added.

"Well, you just hold on," Karen encouraged her. "The ambulance will be here in a minute or two."

The sound of gurney wheels on the smooth floor cut off her next statement and now the crowd really began to move to let them through.

Karen stood and continued to herd people away, reminding them that they had jobs to do and those weren't rubbernecker or EMT.

Lassiter was stuck where he was thanks to Juliet's grip on his hand, but then he wasn't too concerned with moving at the moment. Karen was more concerned with those who were not directly involved so she left him alone.

The two paramedics joined them down at floor level and began asking questions as one set up a blood pressure cuff and the other started making notes on a chart.

Juliet was able to answer most of their questions as they ran through their initial exam. She wasn't so immobilized that they had to use a body board, but it did take both paramedics and Lassiter to get her onto the gurney, a task made more difficult because she was doubled over still and unable to straighten out.

They finally had to be satisfied with her curled up on her side.

While the EMTs secured her and got ready to move, she squeezed Carlton's hand to get his attention.

"Has someone called Shawn?" she asked.

He blinked, then shook his head. "I don't know, but I'll find out. I'll tell him to meet you at the hospital."

She nodded and gave him a ghost of a smile in thanks, then she let him go and refocused on her breathing as she was wheeled away.

Lassiter watched for a moment, then shook himself and turned to the task of making sure Shawn knew what was going on.

o.o

"How long?"

Shawn was staring at the pictures so intently that he didn't register the question immediately. When he did it caught him off guard and he looked up in confusion.

"What?"

"How long?" Gus repeated.

"How long what?"

"How long did you know she was cheating on me?"

Oh. Right. Gus's little hissy fit.

"Um," Shawn said as he tried to get his brain to shift gears. "I don't know. Wait," he said when he realized what Gus was saying. "You _know_?"

"Well, I might not be the great Shawn Spencer," Gus said, "but when I walk into my girlfriend's apartment and see her sitting on the couch playing a game of major league tonsil hockey with another guy, yeah, the idea occurs to me that _maybe_ she's not being faithful to me."

Shawn leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to know."

"'_Not supposed to know'?" _Gus echoed. "What does _that_ mean? You were going to let this go on? Just hope she got it out of her system?"

"No. Don't be stupid, Gus. I would never do that to you. She was goingto break up with you. You were never supposed to know the real reason why."

"Wait! She was planning to break up with me? How do you know?"

Shawn's eyes drifted down to his desk and he shrugged as he pushed at one of the pictures with a single finger. "I don't know. She just was."

He chanced a glance up and saw that Gus was _so_ not buying that.

"Shawn."

It was only his name, but the tone with which it was uttered gave it all the meaning it needed.

His explanation started in a rush but died out halfway through. "I knew she was going to break up with you because Juliet . . . maybe . . . might have . . . sort of . . . kinda told her . . ."

He focused on the pictures again, praying that he'd have a sudden epiphany that he could use as a plausible excuse to delay this conversation until later. Like maybe never. Never was a much better time for him.

"Told her _what_?" Gus demanded.

Shawn sighed and wished Juliet was here. Gus wouldn't argue with her when she was pregnant. Actually, he wouldn't argue with her when she _wasn't_ pregnant. They had much more civilized conversations.

Speaking of Juliet, wasn't it time to go pick her up for lunch?

Before Gus could ask again, the phone rang.

Shawn leapt forward as though he'd been launched by a catapult and grabbed for the handset, almost knocking the base to the floor in his desperation.

"Psych! Shawn Spencer speaking, how may I- Lassie? What-" The blood drained from his face and his fingers went numb from the sudden death grip on the phone.

Gus rolled his eyes. Like he was going to fall for that?

"Which- How long ago?" Shawn checked his watch, then nodded even though Lassiter couldn't possibly know that. "I'm heading out right now. Thanks, Lassie."

He punched the button and dropped the phone on his desk as he stood.

"Gus, we'll have to finish this later. Sorry," he apologized as he beat a quick retreat to the exit.

"No, Shawn, we finish this now. I don't know what Lassiter had to say about the case and I really don't care. You are not going to use it as an excuse to hide behind-"

"Gus, Juliet was just taken to the hospital. Something's wrong with the baby."

The interruption was so unexpected that it stopped Gus cold. Half a second to think about it told him that it was also not something Shawn would make up just to get out of answering a question, even if it was one that he _really_ wanted to avoid. Combine that with the look of real terror and desperation in Shawn's eyes and Gus grabbed his keys.

"I'm driving," he said. "Don't argue with me," he added when Shawn opened his mouth. "You're in no condition to be behind the wheel of a vehicle."

Shawn nodded, swallowing the lump that was equal parts fear for Juliet and gratitude for Gus. He didn't deserve a friend like him. "Thanks, man."

"Let's go," was Gus's answer as he followed his friend out the door.

* * *

Review please and thank you!


	4. 3 Complications

Chapter 3: Complications

* * *

The fact that he knew first and the distance from the hospital meant that, despite the delay in following the ambulance, Lassiter was already there when Shawn and Gus arrived.

He was at the desk talking to the admitting nurse, but when he heard the doors open he glanced back and then turned to face the two men.

"Dr. Remy has been called," he told Shawn. "She should be here within a few minutes."

"Where is she?" Shawn asked, looking back into the main ER area. "What happened?"

"She's being seen by the ER staff until Dr. Remy arrives," Lassiter said. "And no, you can't go see her," he added when it looked like Shawn was going to make a break for it. He grabbed the younger man's arm just in case and began pulling him off to the side so they weren't blocking the way of the next person in line. "Not yet."

"She's my _wife_," Shawn said and tried to shake off Lassiter's grip.

"I am well aware of that. Listen to me, Spencer," Lassiter said, but it didn't work.

"Gus," Shawn said, still trying to wrestle his arm free, "help me out here."

"I agree with Detective Lassiter," Gus said, his tone apologetic. "You'll only be in the way, Shawn. Let the doctors work."

"But she . . . she needs me," Shawn said, his voice rising into the pathetic plea range.

"And she'll have you soon enough I'm sure," Lassie reassured him. "Mr. Guster is right, though. For the moment you'll be more of a hindrance than a help."

"But-"

"Shawn."

Lassiter using his first name did the trick. Shawn stopped struggling and turned his head, something akin to dazed shock on his face.

"She's already in the best place she can be at the moment. They'll do everything possible to make sure that both she and the baby are okay. The best thing you can do to help her right now is to sit down and wait for the doctors to do their jobs."

A few tense moments passed while Shawn stared down his sometimes nemesis/sometimes friend. At the moment it appeared he was going to try for both at once.

Without warning Shawn collapsed into the surprisingly comfortable chair they were standing next to and buried his face in his hands. After a moment to compose himself he raised his head and inhaled deeply.

"Tell me everything that happened since I dropped her off this morning," he said in a quiet, but much more contained voice.

Lassiter sat in the chair on his right and Gus took the one on his left.

"Before I begin, you should know that I called your father. He was going to go pick up Jaime from preschool and then come here."

Shawn nodded. "Thanks."

Lassiter returned it, then began his story. "As far as I could see she was fine until about half an hour ago . . ."

o.o

It was an excruciating hour of waiting before there was news.

At the forty-five minute mark they did get to move from the ER up to the floor where OB was located, a fact that was only mildly reassuring since it was still a hospital and they hadn't been given much more of an explanation beyond, 'We can work as well up there as down here and they need this room for other emergency patients.'

Jaime, despite being three-years-old, was as observant as his father and thus well aware that something was seriously wrong. He didn't display his normal exuberance, opting instead to prove he was Juliet's offspring, and sat quietly in his father's lap, his little arms wrapped around Shawn's neck for both comfort and reassurance.

Shawn just held onto him like he was an anchor, occasionally rubbing a hand on his back or arm and brushing a kiss against his hair. His mind was quite obviously not in the same room, his thoughts on the other half of his family, though the fact that he would close his eyes and hug Jaime tightly every now and again showed he wasn't completely oblivious to his current location and company.

Gus and Henry were absent at the moment, having gone in search of a bathroom and a vending machine.

Lassiter was sitting in a chair facing Shawn, his mind busily running in circles as he considered the man across from him.

They'd known each other for seven years now. Had worked together for all of that.

Lassiter had watched the younger man through a myriad of life experiences.

He'd worked with him—not by choice, of course—and been driven all but insane trying to figure out how he knew the things he did. If he believed in psychics, seven years of working with Shawn would have convinced him that this was the real deal.

Fortunately he didn't and now he'd been validated. He had proof. Sort of.

He'd also, for those first two years, concealed laughter at Shawn's bumbling attempts to get Juliet to even go on a date with him and almost a year later to the day to accept a proposal of marriage. Both endeavors had had a similar success rate, he recalled with a small smile.

He'd even given Shawn advice on occasion, though he'd be hard pressed to explain _why_ if asked. He hadn't liked Shawn back then.

A know-it-all punk who skated by on charm and flattery and who took nothing at all seriously, Shawn had been the antithesis of everything Carlton wanted in a coworker or friend.

And yet . . .

Over the last seven years that had somehow changed. Despite his vigilance, against his better judgment, and overriding his vow not to be sucked in by the sweet-talking charlatan that was Shawn Spencer . . . somehow he'd failed.

And Carlton had no idea how it had happened.

Shawn Spencer was like a mold. He was a fungus in the garden of life. If you weren't careful—and sometimes even if you were—he'd grow on you. And once he'd managed to get a foothold there was no undoing it. You couldn't just scrape him off with acidic words and actions that were blatant in their rejection and be done with it. He just kept coming back.

Which made this DVD business so very frustrating.

Seven years ago he would have had that disc in Karen's hands so fast he probably would have caused an injury. But now . . .

He sighed and leaned forward, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

Okay, he had to be logical about this.

He'd make a list of pros and cons, rate them according to importance, and then just go with whichever had more points.

"Mr. Spencer?"

The voice was like an electric shock as all three people present in the room perked up and Lassiter pushed aside his plan for later consideration.

"That's me," Shawn said and stood, wincing at the discomfort of moving after so long sitting in one position. But Juliet needed him more so he buried it and lowered Jaime to the floor. Jaime didn't let go of his father's hand but Shawn was so intent on what the nurse would say next that he probably wouldn't have been able to had he wanted to do so.

The nurse, Cordeaux by her nametag, approached at Shawn's answer.

"Your wife is going to be fine," she said and the room itself seemed to exhale in a rush at those words.

Shawn's head dropped for a moment as he breathed a prayer of thanks, then he looked back up.

"Can I see her?"

Nurse Cordeaux nodded. "Dr. Remy would like to speak with you about what happened and give you some instructions before we release your wife into your care." She glanced down at Jaime. "Unfortunately the sensitivity of some of our patients in the wing limit the age of visitors. Your son will have to wait here."

Shawn hesitated for a moment, torn between leaving Jaime and going to see Juliet, when Lassiter spoke up. "I'll watch him. Want to sit with me, Jaime?" he said.

Jaime lower lip started to poke out in a pout. "I want to see my mommy," he said, his voice wavering slightly.

Shawn squatted down so he was on his son's level.

"I know you do, Jaime, but there are babies here and they are very fragile. Remember how we talked about that? How we'd have to be careful when the baby came home?"

Jaime nodded, still pouting.

"Well the babies here are so new that they have to be even more careful. I need to go get Mommy and bring her out here and then you can see her, okay? Then well go home and you can tell her what you did at preschool. All right, buddy?"

Jaime nodded, his head dropping so his chin rested on his chest.

"Okay," he said in a whisper.

"Can you sit here with Lassie while I go get Mommy?"

He chewed on his lip as he considered.

"Come on, Jaime, you know Detective Lassiter. He's Mommy's partner. You'll be fine with him."

Carlton quickly masked his surprise at the use of his actual name and title—and without an ounce of sarcasm or mockery, too. The vote of confidence was beyond his ability to comprehend at the moment so he didn't even really register it.

Finally Jaime looked up. He scrutinized Lassiter's face for a few long moments, then nodded. "Okay."

Shawn straightened and ruffled his hair. "Good man. Thanks," he said to Carlton as he took Jaime's hand and helped him sit on the chair next to his.

"Go see your wife, Spencer," he said quietly. "We'll be fine here."

Shawn nodded and turned, following Cordeaux over to and through the wide swinging doors into the hospital proper.

Lassiter sat and then looked down in surprise when he was almost immediately swarmed by Jaime, who climbed into his lap and curled up much the way he had with his father.

After a moment for the surprise to pass he lowered his hands to the armrest and Jaime's back. He rubbed up and down and felt Jaime relax just a hair, a reaction that was contagious apparently.

Gus and Henry returned just then and when they realized Shawn was gone they came over.

"What's happened?"

"Juliet's going to be fine. Spencer went to go see her and get instructions for bringing her home."

Gus exhaled in relief and Henry relaxed a little, the tension leaving his shoulders as they both took seats across from the detective and child.

Gus was still looking nervously at the doors where Shawn had gone but Henry caught Lassiter's gaze. He arched his eyebrows and let his gaze drop to his grandson before rising again in question.

Carlton felt his expression freeze in uncertainty, but Henry just lowered his brows and nodded ever so slightly to convey respect and appreciation and Lassiter returned it with only a little hesitation.

He looked down again at the child in his lap and repressed a weary sigh.

This was going to be more complicated than he thought.

o.o

By two o'clock Lassiter was back in the station. He had fifteen minutes until he was supposed to leave for his meeting with the diamond dealer, which was just enough time to update Karen on the situation with Juliet.

Thankfully it wasn't anything too serious, he thought as he knocked on the slightly ajar glass door.

Karen looked up and then set down the file she was reviewing. "Come in, Detective," she invited and waved at the chairs before her desk. "How is Detective Spencer?"

"She's fine," Lassiter said as he accepted the invitation. "The baby shifted and settled on the sciatic nerve leading into her left leg. According to Dr. Remy it's painful and inconvenient, but not dangerous or permanently disabling. She did recommend however that Juliet be put on maternity leave now since walking will be difficult until the baby shifts—which is unlikely—or is born."

"I'll see the paperwork is drawn up immediately," Karen agreed. She'd never had such a thing happen to her with her kids but she'd known a woman from a Lamaze class that had had the same thing happen. From what she remembered hearing, Dr. Remy was exactly right in that it would be painful and annoying, but not lasting. Juliet was already basically assigned to desk duty and paperwork could still be done without her so it made sense to finish her pregnancy at home where she could be infinitely more comfortable.

"In the meantime," she continued, "you'll need someone to help you on the Rimini thefts."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself, Chief. I can handle it and besides, I've got the other Spencer to help me."

Karen arched an eyebrow at the almost vote of confidence in Shawn. But she just said, "Well it so happens we've got a junior detective that could benefit from the experience. And since the person I was going to assign him to went and got himself shot in the leg yesterday, he's unattached for the next few months until rehab is completed."

"Who?" Lassiter asked in confusion, trying to recall if he'd heard anything about who had been slated to be partnered with Jackson, the injured cop.

"Our newest detective," she said as a hint.

It took a second, but then the answer came to him. "McNabb?" he said incredulously. "But he's . . ."

She raised her eyebrow again and he swallowed the rest of his protest.

"He's just fine. Thank you, Chief. I appreciate the . . . thought."

Karen smiled. "I knew you would. He'll be your partner until Detective Spencer returns from maternity leave. I'll inform her of her change in status. I'll leave it to you to inform him. Thank you, Detective, that will be all."

Lassiter stood and left, waiting until his back was turned to scowl.

Great. Now he had to deal with the department's pet psychic _and _their mascot too?

His week was just getting better and better.

* * *

Review, please and thank you.


	5. 4 What's Eating Lassieface

Chapter 4: What's Eating Lassie-face

* * *

Shawn took the rest of that day and the next off to stay at home with Juliet. He probably would have stayed home the day after that as well but she'd firmly pushed him out the door and said that she had a doctor's note that said she didn't need supervision. She cut off his protests by promising to do nothing more strenuous than walking from bed to the bathroom.

She wasn't technically on bed rest, but laying down was the most comfortable and least awkward position she was capable of for the most part, so she had resigned herself to taking a break and just relaxing for this last month of pregnancy.

But she couldn't do that if Shawn hovered incessantly.

He finally agreed that he'd go to the office and try to work on the Rimini case, but only on the condition that he could come home at lunch and that she would keep her phone within arm's reach at all times so she could call him if anything at all changed.

She agreed and he kissed her cheek and left, Jaime buckled into his car seat for the ride to the preschool. They'd considered pulling him out so he could stay home with Juliet, but decided against it. If she wasn't up to chasing criminals she certainly wasn't going to be able to ride herd the entire day on a toddler with the energy of sugar-high triplets all condensed into one little body. She needed the mornings off at least.

After dropping his son off and checking in with Gus only to discover that his partner was busy with his other job this morning, he decided to go to the police station.

He doubted that he'd find anything there that would give him a push in the right direction on the case, but he needed to say thanks to Lassiter for his help the day before.

And there _might_ be something new . . . he hoped.

o.o

He strode into the station, his eyes roving over everything and taking it all in. It was ingrained in him and one never knew when one might spot a vital clue—even if it wasn't relevant just yet.

He paused once he reached the bullpen area until he spotted his target standing by his desk with McNabb.

"Lassie-face!" he called and made his way over, grinning.

He saw the shoulder tensing and knew without a doubt that a scowl had just replaced whatever expression might have been there two seconds before.

Turning slowly, Lassiter forced a fake smile onto his lips.

"Spencer. I was just thinking about you!"

"You were?" Shawn said. "Wow. Because I was just getting a vibe from you," he continued, his fingers coming up to his temples. "Something about how you think I'm . . ."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "Please don't say psychic. I'd hate to have to upset Juliet by hitting you."

Shawn's eyes opened and he lowered his hands a little. "I was going to say, 'incredibly grateful for helping Juliet the other day' actually. But that, too."

Lassiter grunted, hiding his annoyance. Shawn couldn't do _anything_ the normal way, could he?

"Well, you're welcome. She's my partner," he added as if that was all the explanation needed. Though it kind of was.

Shawn smiled and tilted his head. "And she's my wife. I think that makes us in laws or something." He slung an arm over Lassie's shoulder and grinned. "Doesn't it?"

With all the patience of seven years of enduring such things he said in a calm voice, "No, it doesn't. Remove your arm."

Shawn complied and then turned to McNabb while Lassiter rolled his shoulders and brushed at his clothes to dislodge any lingering spores.

Like a fungus.

"Buzz! Nice suit there. So is it weird to be able to wear normal clothes to work? What has it been, a week since you got your badge?"

Buzz grinned his usual one-hundred watt smile. "Yeah," he said and self-consciously looked down at his clothes. "You think it looks okay? It _is_ kind of weird to have to think about what I'm going to wear to work," he agreed.

"It looks fabulous," Shawn reassured him. "So what brings you over here to Lassie-land?" He paused a beat then his fingers snapped up to his temple again. "Wait! I'm getting something . . . it's kind of fuzzy but . . . a peach? No . . . not that kind of fuzzy . . ." He gasped and dropped his hand. "You're Lassie's new interim partner while Juliet's on maternity leave." Shaking his head as if to banish the last vestiges of his trance he said, "Seriously? That's awesome, McNabb!" he added as Buzz gaped at him in pleased surprise.

Lassiter resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but only just barely. You'd think McNabb had never seen this before despite having worked here for the last seven years just like the rest of them.

"You'll be learning from the best," Shawn said, beaming at the junior detective. "I know _I _personally have learned so much from Detective Lassiter. He's got a depth of knowledge and experience that is just astounding. Play close attention to what he tells you, Buzz, because-"

Now the urge couldn't be suppressed.

"Offi-" He stopped and corrected himself. "_Detective_ McNabb will be assisting me with the Rimini jewel thefts. You know, the same case _you_'re supposed to be working on? You haven't had any 'vibrations' or 'messages from the other side' have you?"

"Not about the jewel robberies," Shawn agreed, shifting topics without hesitation. "But they have been telling me that you need to relax. May I recommend a massage? I'd do it myself but well, being coworkers that would be just a little weird. But I know of this little place down on Broad Street with this tiny little Chinese woman . . . most incredible massage I've had in my life. Gus had to drive me home because my muscles were like warm butter, all soft and squishy. You should go see her. Tell her I sent you."

Lassiter clenched his teeth as he listened to Shawn ramble on. He was describing the technique the masseuse had used to McNabb who was listening intently when Lassiter's temper snapped.

"You know the only time I tense up like this is when I have to deal with interference by a _fake_ psychic."

Shawn stopped cold and pulled his head back in surprise and confusion. Where had that come from?

"What?"

"If you don't have something to contribute to the case, then maybe you could be kind enough to leave us alone so we can do our jobs?"

Shawn glanced at Buzz, who looked just as confused as he felt, then back to the head detective.

"Who peed in your Cheerios this morning?"

"If you don't have anything, Spencer, then _please_, for the love of all that is holy, _go away_."

"Oookay," he said and started to walk backwards. He paused after a few steps, his brow still furrowed as he regarded the other man. "Are you okay, Lassie? Because I'm getting a vibe that something's wrong."

Biting back the first thought that came to mind he inhaled and exhaled with deliberation. "It's nothing that your departure won't fix," he said with feigned sweetness.

Shawn considered that and the man who'd said it, then gave up. "All right then. See ya round, McNabb. And Lassie, I can't stress how serious I am about that massage." The muscle in Lassiter's jaw twitched from the way he was clenching it and Shawn decided that now was definitely the right time to leave.

"But it's up to you. Bye."

Buzz nodded and waved. "Bye, Shawn."

He waved back and then stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered out.

Only when Lassiter was sure he was gone and not coming back did he force his jaw to unclench. It popped when he did so and he rolled his neck to relieve that tension as well.

"Go check with forensics and see if they have an updated report for us," he ordered as he resumed his seat behind his desk.

"Yes, sir," McNabb said and hurried quickly away.

Lassiter took a moment to let his head hang down as he tried to get his temper back under control.

They both probably thought he was nuts now, but they didn't know the whole story, did they?

Two weeks now he'd been wrestling with this and then last night he had been unable to sleep for thinking about what to do about Shawn and the DVD and it had made him just a mite cranky today.

He had to come to a decision. Preferably before he went stark raving mad.

But not right now, he didn't. Right now he needed to figure out who had stolen ninety-four thousand dollars worth of jewels.

With that thought he ruthlessly shoved the dilemma away and focused on the files in front of him.

o.o

"How was work?" Juliet asked when Shawn came home at lunch. "Made any progress on the case?"

"No."

Juliet looked up at his tone, one of distraction and confusion.

"Is there some new evidence? What did the forensics people have to say?"

Shawn shook himself and looked up at his wife.

"Aren't you supposed to be on vacation from work?"

She rolled her eyes and speared a chunk of her salad. "I'm not at work because I can't walk right and it hurts to sit up straight for very long. Nothing is wrong with my brain though." She shrugged. "And maybe . . ."

"Maybe what?" he asked.

She looked down. "It might be just a little bit boring here without anything to do all day."

He grinned. "You've only been alone for half a day and you're already bored? You're not going to last the month at this rate."

She scowled. "You're not helping."

"Sorry," he said, but the way his lips tried to twitch into a smile betrayed his sincerity for the lie it was.

She narrowed her gaze and he coughed to hide a laugh.

"I _might_ be able to last the month if you'd give me something to work with."

He considered as he ate a bite of sandwich, then swallowed and nodded. "Okay. It's not the Rimini thefts, but it's a tough puzzle and one that would help the case significantly if it were solved."

"A connected case?"

"Sort of."

"Well? Give me the details."

"It's Lassie."

She blinked in surprise.

"Carlton?"

"Yeah. He's been acting . . . I don't know. Weird."

"Weird," she repeated. "What does that mean?"

"Well I thought it was just his normal grouchiness, you know?"

She rolled her eyes at that because he only acted that way when Shawn was around and it was usually Shawn's fault. Well, half his fault.

If only they could get along for _five minutes_ without baiting each other she was sure they could both be a lot more effective at their jobs. Compared to when they'd started seven years ago they had come to something of an understanding when it came to working together, but it was still very confrontational. They seemed to thrive on the sniping and competition. Mostly she chalked it up to them being guys and tried not to think about it too much.

"But this last week," Shawn said, bringing her thoughts back to what he was saying, "it's gotten worse. And then today . . ."

His brow furrowed as he thought back to that scene in the station. It still didn't make sense.

"What happened?"

"He was even more crabby than usual. And it came out of nowhere. I mean, we were joking like we always do and then BAM! He just . . ."

"Snapped?" she asked.

"That doesn't quite convey the full effect of his behavior, but yeah. We'll go with that."

"He's probably just under a lot of pressure to get this case solved."

"Maybe," Shawn admitted. But if that was the problem then he really needed to find something—anything—that they could use to move this thing forward. Lassiter couldn't continue the way he had been. He was going to have a nervous breakdown and _really_ snap if this kept up.

And Shawn couldn't say exactly what it was, but he had an uneasy feeling about Lassiter's recent moodiness that was more than concern for the other man. He couldn't help but think that if it wasn't resolved—and soon—it would be bad for more than just the head detective.

"So were you able to get a hold of the day security manager at the store?"

Juliet's question pulled him back to the present moment and he blinked. "What? Oh, yeah. A total wash. He didn't have anything that we don't already know."

"Do you have any theories?"

He snorted. "Does 'aliens did it' count as a theory?"

She smiled. "Can you prove it?"

"'Can they disprove it', that's the question to be asked."

That triggered a memory of the discussion that he'd finished with Gus this morning and he coughed. "Speaking of questions . . . Gus broke up with Janelle."

"Good," Juliet said darkly. Then she realized what he'd said. "_He _broke up with _her _or _she _broke up with _him?"_

"Ah, that's kind of a matter of perspective," he hedged, then added quickly, "but next time he said he'd prefer that you went to him instead of confronting her directly." He watched her out of the corners of his eyes for her reaction and prayed he wasn't going to get chewed out for the second time that day.

He didn't even really _do_ anything this time so it was doubly unfair that he kept taking the brunt of the angry feelings it created.

Juliet frowned, then blushed. Then she frowned again. "Wait, how did he find out? She told him?"

"Um . . . no. No, _she _didn't tell him."

"Shawn."

He looked up at the exact echo of the tone Gus had used during their first discussion of the topic. How did they both do that so similarly? It was creepy.

"It wasn't my fault," he said right off so they were clear on that. "Apparently he went to her apartment and found her making out with some guy on her couch." He frowned as he recalled that moment of discovery. "I'm not actually sure how he knew that _I _knew . . ." He shook it off. "But anyway, he called me on it at the office the next day and I sort of . . . might have . . . maybe . . . said that he wasn't supposed to know. Then he asked what _that_ meant and it sort of went downhill from there." He flashed his best 'I'm cute and you love me so please don't hurt me' grin.

She covered her eyes with a hand and sighed.

"You try to help a friend and this is what it gets you," she muttered. "How much does he hate me?"

"Oh, Jules, he doesn't _hate _you. Don't be silly. This is Gus. He doesn't have the hate gland. Except as it applies to _me_," he added, then waved it away. "But I probably deserve most of that and he doesn't even actually hate me. Not really. He'll get over it. He always does."

He was saved from her response to that by his phone ringing. He pulled it out and flipped it open after a glance at the display.

"Buzz, my man, what's up?" He listened for a moment, his brows drawing down. "Uh huh. Okay. I'll be there in five. Thanks. Oh, Buzz, one more thing. Is Lassie still all pissy?" He listened to the reply and grimaced. "Yeah, I got it. Thanks."

Ending the call he stood, then bent to kiss Juliet on the cheek.

"Gotta go. Another expensive rock has been stolen."

"Another one?" she said in surprise. "But it's been over a week and a half since the last one. The first seven were all within days of each other. Why wait so long?"

"That's what I have to figure out. See ya, Jules."

"Bye. Be careful!" she added, but he was already out the door.

* * *

Ah . . . we're finally going to see more details about the elusive and confusing jewel thefts. Should be fun!

Review, please and thanks.


	6. 5 Assault With Intent To Derange

Chapter 5: Assault With Intent To Derange

* * *

Arriving at the Santa Barbara Art Museum, Shawn parked the minivan rather conspicuously among the gaggle of black and white—and a single red—sedans. He was, of course, recognized, so the officer helping to keep the few onlookers back just nodded and let him and Gus past.

"Why is an art museum showing a display of jewelry?" Shawn asked as they entered the lobby and looked for the trail of cops that would lead them to the scene.

"It's an exhibition of jewelry from local craftsmen spanning the entire history of Santa Barbara. There are even a few pieces from Archibald Davis."

"Wow," Shawn said as he craned his neck to get a look in some of the galleries they were passing. Mostly he saw museum staff being questioned by police officers. "Who is that exactly and why do you say his name as if I should know it?"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Because I live in the vain hope that one of these days you'll reveal you actually have some culture."

Shawn shot his friend a glare. "I have lots of culture."

"The only culture you have is the yogurt Juliet keeps in the fridge."

That earned him another look, but he returned it with one that dared Shawn to deny it.

"Oh look!" Shawn not so subtly changed the subject. "The crime scene . . . Split up and try not to let Lassie see you," he warned Gus. "He's got a bad case of PMS."

"Pissy Male Syndrome?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Shawn confirmed. Gus nodded and headed left while Shawn went for the right.

The spacious McCormick gallery at the rear of the building was the location of the jewelry exhibition. Glass cases and displays dotted the floor on pedestals designed to put their contents at optimal viewing level as well as conceal the security that was no doubt in place to protect them. In one instance at least it had failed and that was the large central stand if the number of crime photographers, forensics specialists, and officers—in and out of uniform—that were clustered around it was any indication.

At the moment the case was empty except for the velvet cushions that the contents had been resting on. Shawn counted thirteen fairly large pieces from the indentations left behind and arched an eyebrow. Unless their thief had had a sudden attack of greed this wasn't the next chapter in the Rimini case.

"Director?"

He turned to see a woman, probably close to his own age by her face but definitely in a higher tax bracket by her clothes, enter from the doorway to the right and approach the older woman who was currently talking with, ah yes, Detective Lassie-face.

Shawn took a step to the left so he wouldn't be so obviously in the line of sight, behind a couple of cops who were questioning a girl wearing the uniform of a local courier service, and perked his ears to focus on the conversation between the two women.

"We've finished verifying the rest of the stones are real. Only the Shining Star was replaced with a forgery."

Ah. So not an attack of greed then.

"Thank you, Myra," the director said and then turned back to Lassiter. "It appears that things are not as dire as it first appeared. But make no mistake, Detective, this is still a very serious crime."

"And we are treating it that way," Lassiter assured her. "I'm going to need a list of any and every employee who might have had access to the displays and contact information for the same, even if they're here right now."

She nodded. "I assigned one of my assistants to that task as soon as we discovered there was a problem. If you'll come to my office I'll get you a copy."

Lassiter gestured for her to lead the way, then paused to look over the room and give McNabb a few quiet instructions.

Shawn had to duck and sidestep quickly when his cover split up and moved on to other places, the cops going confer with some fellow officers while the courier headed for the lobby and—presumably—the exit.

He waited until Lassiter was out of the room, counted to five to give him a chance to come back, then continued his perusal of the room.

He watched the CSIs dust for fingerprints, vacuum the velvet in the case for any trace evidence, and take the panel off of the base for a closer inspection of the alarm circuitry and components hidden there.

Shawn doubted that any of those would turn up anything. Their thief was a lot more savvy than that. But he wasn't going to complain if they did their jobs with such focused dedication because it made it easier for him to do his without an audience—for now.

Once he'd made his way around to the far side of the room, observing and listening the whole way, he met up with Gus again.

"Our missing jewel was replaced with a forgery," Shawn said. "Which means this crime could have been committed within days of the last one or before the first one or somewhere in the middle depending on how often they take a close enough look to know if the jewels are real."

"They take them out for cleaning and inspection once a week," Gus said, then explained when Shawn gave him a look. "I overheard one of the docents in her interview with the cops. Anyway, that's what Myra Lizak was doing this morning. Only when she got back to the lab where they do the cleaning, she found that something was wrong with the necklace."

"The Shining Star is missing," Shawn said.

Gus nodded. "Shawn, this is huge."

"I know. That means that the MO is broken once again. It's like they're deliberately trying to keep a pattern from forming. From our thief's point of view it's smart but it's also risky. Familiarity with a routine means you're less likely to make mistakes."

"That too," Gus agreed. "But I was talking about the jewel itself."

"Oh. What?" Shawn stopped watching the photographer and looked at his friend. "What about it?"

"The Shining Star is a star sapphire, the fourth largest in the world."

"A _star_ sapphire? Did it fall to Earth in a meteorite?"

Gus rolled his eyes. "It's called a star sapphire, Shawn, because it has a mineral called rulite in it that reflects the light in three rays making a six-pointed star in the jewel. The effect is called asterism and it's the defining characteristic of a star sapphire or ruby."

"Where _do_ you learn these things?"

"The Learning Channel. Anyway, the Shining Star weighs 374 carats and was found in Sri Lanka in 1927. Lora Knight bought it and had it set into a pendant for a necklace as part of a sapphire jewelry set she commissioned from Tiffany's. There were thirteen pieces with over eighty-five jewels, twenty-three of which were sapphires. Seven of those were star sapphires. The largest was the Shining Star and in 1935 the whole collection was valued at over half a million dollars."

"Nowadays I bet that number's a lot bigger."

"You know that's right. Easily in the multi-digit millions, not only because of the jewels themselves, but their history with Lora Knight."

"And she is who exactly?"

Gus frowned. "How can you be from Santa Barbara and _not_ know who Lora J. Knight is? Did you pay attention to anything in history class in school?"

"Does Allison Sorenson count?"

"Allison Sorenson?"

"The cute little blonde that sat in front of me in sixth, seventh, _and _eighth grade history. She wore pigtails every single day for three years," Shawn recalled fondly.

Gus just continued to stare for a long moment.

"What?" Shawn asked when he realized it.

"Allison Sorenson does _not_ count."

"Well then, no. Gus. I didn't pay attention to anything in history class. Educate me."

Gus snorted, but simply said, "Lora Knight was an heiress who lived here in the thirties. She was supposedly the wealthiest woman in the country at that time."

"Mmm."

"She built that Viking-style castle out at Lake Tahoe."

"The one my dad dragged us to that one summer when we went to the _south _side of Lake Tahoe?"

"That's the one."

"So if this collection is so valuable, why only steal a single gem?"

Gus shrugged. "That's not unusual in this case, Shawn, remember?"

"Of course I remember, Gus. I just . . ." His face twisted in frustration before he finally sighed. "None of this makes sense. There's something else going on here."

"Like what?" Gus asked. "You think the thief has a secret agenda?"

"That or the thief suffers from a serious multiple personality disorder. Each personality gets to pick a jewel, an MO, maybe even a motive."

"What in the name of sweet justice are _you_ doing here?" a voice said causing them to freeze, then slowly turn to find Lassiter looming behind them with a scowl on his face.

"Lassie!" Shawn said. Before he could say anything else he and Gus were both seized in what bore a painful resemblance to a Vulcan Nerve Pinch and then dragged towards the exit.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-OW! Lassiter, STOP! That _hurts_!"

"It's less painful than a gunshot wound, believe me," Lassiter growled as they made their way through two more galleries. Everyone they passed paused to watch, but no one said anything. They all liked Shawn, but not even he was worth crossing the head detective when he was in this kind of mood.

He turned at the entrance and continued to propel them into the locker area off to the left of the lobby. It was empty, a fact that pleased Lassiter, though it did nothing to reassure Shawn and Gus.

He released them with a shove and got straight down to business.

"How did you find out about this?"

Shawn was rubbing at his neck and returning the scowl aimed at him.

"I had a vision, okay? Geeze. Last time I checked I was still working this case."

"You had a vision of _what_?" Lassiter demanded. "The thief? Can you give us a name? A face? Can you even tell us the gender?"

"Dude, what is your problem?" Shawn snapped.

"What is my problem, Spencer?" he shot back. "_You _are my problem."

"Excuse me? I've been trying to help you and all I'm getting in return is your bad attitude."

"Oh I'm sorry," Lassiter sneered. "You're right. You've been _such _a big help on this case. As soon as I finish booking our thief, I'm putting you in for a commendation. I might even nominate you for an award. 'Impediment of the Year'. Would you prefer cherry or walnut for the plaque?"

Gus watched this whole scene play out, his brow furrowed in confusion. Shawn hadn't been kidding about the PMS, but the question was, why?

Shawn just stared in utter disbelief and so Lassiter just kept on going.

"You say you're trying to help us, but so far you've given us _nothing_. Not a single clue has come out of your twisted little mind. What's the matter? Your psychic powers suddenly not working?"

"Well your negative attitude isn't helping," Shawn retorted, having recovered from his shock at the outburst, if not the confusion. "If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times that negativity dampens the transmissions from the spiritual planes. You need to lighten up, Lassiter."

The detective made a rude sound that indicated exactly what he thought of that.

"Yeah, I hate it when my spiritual plane transmissions are dampened by negativity," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm so thick you could almost see it. "Why don't you just admit that whatever source you've been tapping for seven years has dried up?"

"My _source _hasn't 'dried up', Lassiter," Shawn said. "It's as wet as the Pacific Ocean in a monsoon." Lassiter made a sound of disgust as he turned away.

"Right."

"And I can prove it," Shawn added.

"Oh really?" Lassiter said, turning back.

"You asked what was in my vision before. You still want to know?"

"Sure," the detective said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Enlighten me. What does the spirit world have to say today?"

Shawn closed his eyes and started to bring his hand up to his temple.

"_Without_ the theatrics if you don't mind."

Shawn opened his eyes and glared, but he didn't lower his hand.

With a gasp and a steady stare he recounted his 'vision'. "I'm seeing the display case. Inside are the thirteen pieces of the sapphire jewelry collection that belonged to Lora J. Knight, Santa Barbaran heiress. Someone's reaching inside . . . is it the thief? No . . . She's performing the weekly inspection and cleaning . . . but this time there's a problem. Something's not right . . . The Shining Star, the crown jewel of the collection . . . it's a _fake._ It's been replaced with a decent look alike, the museum patrons would never notice, but it's not good enough to fool the museum's expert on staff, Myra Lizak. She's the one who reported the theft to the museum director who then called the police." Cocking his head in challenge as he dropped his hand, he arched an eyebrow.

"Did I get anything even close?"

Lassiter listened in silence to the information being spouted out—the _correct_ information, he thought bitterly—and wondered again how Shawn did it. But even if he was right, he still didn't know who did it. He hadn't told them anything that Lassiter himself hadn't learned already.

"You're reading the wrong mind, Spencer," he said dryly. "Assuming that's what you're doing anyway."

Shawn frowned. "What?"

"_I _don't know who the thief is."

Shawn exchanged a confused glance with Gus. "I'm confused. What just happened here? This was some kind of test? You _do _think I'm psychic?"

"Not even a little teeny tiny bit. But if you were, I'd tell you to read the mind of someone who can tell us something useful. Like say, the thief's. Divine what they're thinking—and where the jewels and, if you can swing it, their residence is—and you'll really impress me. Until then I'm going to leave you to practice your next vision and go do some real detective work." He started to leave, then swung back and pointed a finger at Shawn.

"And if I catch you at my crime scene without my express permission again I'll have you arrested so fast your head will spin."

"On what charges?" Shawn demanded.

"Disturbing the peace."

With that Lassiter left, stunned silence following in his wake.

It was broken when McNabb ducked in the room, checking over his shoulder as he went.

"I'm really sorry about that, Shawn," he apologized. "I probably shouldn't have called you."

"No, Buzz, you did fine. I'm glad you did. This is . . . something between me and Lassiter," he said, though he had no idea if he was being honest or not. "It isn't your fault."

"Okay, well, I have to go back in there, but . . . I can call you later and let you know if we find anything else. And if you come by the station after eight I'll even get you the witness statements from today."

"Don't worry about it, Buzz. I don't want you to get in any trouble."

"Are you sure? I feel really bad about this."

Shawn half laughed but it was without mirth. "Yeah, me too." He wiped a hand over his face, then shook it off and looked at Gus.

"Come on. Let's go. I'm not going to get anything else here. I need to find a place to think free of all the bad vibes."

Gus nodded and followed Shawn out of the museum.

o.o

The drive to the Psych office was silent, Shawn and Gus each lost in their own thoughts.

When they entered Shawn shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up, looked at his desk chair, then reconsidered and plopped down in one of their more comfortable squishy chairs. He let his head fall back so he could stare at the ceiling, though no answers were written up there. Unfortunately.

Gus did sit down in his chair and even swiped a finger over the touchpad of his computer to wake it up from the screensaver. But after that he just looked to Shawn. "Okay, what was _that_?" he said.

"Lassiter's attitude?" Shawn asked. "I don't know. It has me worried though."

"That wasn't Pissy Male Syndrome, Shawn. That was . . ." He shook his head. "I don't know what that was."

"He's been like that all week. I told Juliet and she said she thought it was stress from the case, but I don't know that I agree. The chief's not putting _that_ much pressure on us to solve the case."

"If that was about the case then he needs a vacation or he's going to have a heart attack or a stroke or something. That was scary."

"There's got to be something else going on, Gus. This is Lassiter. He pushes himself and he takes a lot of responsibility on his shoulders when he works on a case but this is extreme even for him. And it's not like lives are at stake. Do you remember that serial killer case we worked with him two years ago?"

"The Copycat?"

"Yeah. Sixteen people died before he was stopped. Chief Vick was the guy's next intended victim and he even managed to kidnap her and hold her for three days before we caught him. Lassie was interim chief _and _heading up the investigation _and _working against the clock to save her . . . he wasn't this stressed _then."_

"Even if it's not the cause of his stress, this case going unsolved can't be helping. Did you get anything that we might be able to use?"

Shawn leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists, and shook his head. "No. I mean, I'm sure I saw things that would be helpful if I just had one clue. There's something, some element that would tie all this together and not just break it open but smash this case into oblivion. If only I could just . . ." He closed his eyes and let his head drop with a sigh.

"If only I could just figure out what it is."

Gus let the silence stretch until it grew to be uncomfortable while he searched for something to contribute.

"You'll get it, Shawn," he finally said lamely. "You'll figure it out."

Shawn barked out a laugh. "Thanks, Gus," he said wryly. "Your confidence in me is overwhelming."

Gus scowled, but Shawn just stood and stretched, twisting his torso and rolling his neck.

"Okay," he said and went to his desk to grab the files with everything they had on the case. "Let's go over this one more time."

* * *

So more Lassie-mental whump, lots of Shawn confusion, Gus The Amazing Magic-Head using his mad random fact skillz, and another appearance by Buzz the Hottie Detective wearing his oh-so-stylish suit.

YAYZ! :D:D:D:D:D:D:D

Please celebrate with me and leave a review! ;D


	7. 6 Times and Measures

Chapter 6: Times and Measures

* * *

After making sure the bulk of the initial investigation was done and it was down to mopping up the details, Lassiter left McNabb in charge and headed back to the station.

He needed to report to Karen on this latest development and when that was done he needed to give her a certain DVD.

He'd come to his decision. He was done with this whole mess. Shawn Spencer had faked his last vision.

Lassiter didn't know who had called Spencer, but his suspicions were leaning towards McNabb—and if he found out that was the case then the junior detective would also be going up on charges.

One thing he did know, no vision from the spiritual plane had told Shawn about the theft.

No media had been allowed enough access to give it away either, so that meant that the little birdie chirping in Shawn's ear was someone on the force. He'd known that for seven _years_, he thought and angrily slammed the heel of his hand on the steering wheel, but he'd let sentimentality get in the way of pursuing the investigation.

Well not any more, he vowed as his jaw clenched in remembered anger for their argument in the locker room.

He knew it would hurt Juliet and he wasn't happy about that part, but it couldn't be helped.

Did she even know? he wondered. Had Spencer told his wife that he was a fraud?

For Juliet's sake he hoped not, because that would make her an accessory.

She probably wouldn't do as much jail time, he thought and shifted uncomfortably, but there was no getting out of it if she'd found out at some point and kept it a secret.

And surely they'd wait until after she had the baby, he reasoned. Of course, with both parents in jail, Jaime and his unborn sibling would go into the foster care system. Seventeen years as a cop had given him enough experience with that social service and the criminals it produced to know that it wasn't a fate he'd wish on any child.

Maybe Henry could petition for custody. Unless he knew as well . . .

Guster certainly knew, so he'd be no help. He'd be in jail right along with the rest of them.

Lassiter wondered if it would be worth tracking down Shawn's mother. Assuming she wasn't also in on the scam.

With a vivid curse Lassiter smacked the steering wheel again.

What had he done to piss off the powers that be this way? Why had _he_ been the poor sap chosen to decide the fate of an entire family?

He stopped for a red light and rested his mouth on his fist. His crystal clear decision of all of three minutes previous was now as clear as . . . _butter_, to quote Shawn Spencer.

Unbidden, the memory of Jaime sitting in his lap while he waited to see his mother again rose in Lassiter's mind.

The hour of worry over his mother's health would be nothing compared to the years of waiting for his mother and father to get out of jail. And once they were released, getting custody back would be a long messy battle guaranteed to leave scars on everyone involved.

He cursed again and pressed the gas when the light changed to green.

The memory of Jaime shifted and turned into a slide show, a jumble of images from the past—his birth, parties, holidays, Saturday mornings at Henry's house when Carlton and Henry had gone fishing but been delayed by Jaime needing to give his Grampa a kiss and a hug before they left.

Juliet and Shawn were doting parents and had shared the joy of childrearing with everyone around them.

How many times had Shawn interrupted a meeting to hand out pictures and recount Jaime's latest misadventures and accomplishments?

Everyone at the station knew Jaime from the times he'd been brought in by one or both parents. The kid was as friendly and charming as his father and had wiggled and danced and grinned his way into everyone's hearts.

If Shawn was the department's pet, then Jaime was their adopted child.

The slide show took a dark turn when images from the future of Jaime without his parents started to interpolate themselves. He was a bright kid and as clever and manipulative as his father—that much was evident even at his young age.

Without the right guiding force he'd become the spawn of Satan. It wouldn't be long before he'd join his parents in the state penal system.

Lassiter doubted many things about Shawn Spencer, but one thing he did _not_ doubt was that if anyone could keep Jaime from becoming a career criminal it was his father. Only Shawn had the energy to deal with Jaime for extended periods of time and only Shawn could understand how that little brain worked.

Juliet had learned a lot of tricks from dealing with her husband, but even she couldn't be expected to know all. She didn't think the way those two did. In the long run she'd never be able to keep up without Shawn and if _she _couldn't, then no foster parent was going to be able to.

This time the curse was long and colorful in its composition.

What was he supposed to _do_? he silently fumed.

There was no good answer, he admitted bitterly. Someone was going to lose.

Then another thought occurred to him.

Even if he did keep quiet that just made him an accessory. Right now he could play off the hesitation on looking for more evidence, but how long could that hold?

And how long did he have?

Whoever this anonymous tipster was, he was proving to be determined. He'd taken the risk and gone to the trouble to get surveillance into the Psych office. He'd waited until he got the evidence he needed and then he'd packaged it up neatly and delivered it to Lassiter's house.

Something said in that long ago phone call came back to him now.

_ "Detective, I have done my homework. You don't believe Shawn Spencer is a psychic any more than I do."_

One more curse was added to the pile as the import of that hit Lassiter.

He _had_ done his homework. And anyone who put as much effort into this as he had wasn't likely to give up easily.

The question was, what would he do if and when he realized that the DVD hadn't worked?

Would he try again with Karen? And why hadn't he done so in the first place? Why was he so insistent on being anonymous?

Lassiter pulled into his parking spot at the station and turned off the car, but remained where he was.

How far would this guy go to prove Shawn wasn't a psychic? Were he and his family in danger from this . . . anti-fan?

Oh this was _perfect_. This was just what he needed right now: two unsolvable cases to contribute to the nervous breakdown that had been building up for seven years now courtesy of Shawn Spencer.

Leaning forward he rested his head on the steering wheel and laughed mirthlessly.

He was definitely getting too old for this.

He stayed there for a minute or two, then sat up and took one last deep breath.

He couldn't do this alone. He hated asking for help but he was at the end of his rope. If he didn't do something to end this he was going to . . .

He didn't know exactly what. But it would be bad for him and any innocent bystanders that might be around when it happened.

Of course with something like this there was only one place he could go. Accessory though Henry might be, he was the only person Carlton felt comfortable taking this to.

This new plan could end very badly. If Henry somehow didn't know then this would open up a whole new can of worms, but that was really unlikely when one considered it. He had been a good cop, an outstanding detective . . . He _had_ to know what was going on.

The question was, would Henry know what to do now?

There was only one way to find out. He'd drop by after work tonight and hopefully he could finally get some peace on the subject—or at least a co-conspirator to share the burden.

His decision made he forced his mind back to what he was supposed to be doing right then and climbed out of his car to go find Karen.

o.o

Shawn stared at the clear board where everything was pinned up and scrawled in various semi-coded colors. "We're missing something here."

"A suspect. A motive. An MO." Gus snorted from his reclined position facing half away from his desk. "Take your pick."

"Gus, that's so helpful!" Shawn said. "I was thinking we needed more hot sauce, but maybe you're right. Maybe instead of _Tabasco_ we need information about our _thief_." He smacked a palm against his forehead. "Why didn't _I_ think of that?" He capped this sarcastic comment with a glare, but over three decades of experience just made Gus shrug.

"I don't know. Maybe because you're allowing yourself to become distracted by Lassiter's problems?"

Shawn stopped pacing and turned to look at his partner. "You're _not_ worried about him? Dude, did you see him today? My shoulder still hurts from that secret ninja move he used on us."

"Mine, too," Gus agreed, "but he's not about to open up to us with a problem in his personal life."

"He opens up to me," Shawn protested.

Gus laughed. "When you get him _drunk_. I don't think he's going to go drinking with you right now. And if he does, I wouldn't leave your drink unattended."

"Gus, don't be silly. Lassie would never actually seriously try to harm me."

"You think?"

"I know. Juliet would kick his butt if he did."

"That's true," Gus said with a half shrug. "Anyway, I think it's safe to say that this case is causing some of the stress, even if it's not all of the reason behind it. So if we solve it, then he'll relax a little. Plus we'll have the time free to investigate what else might be going on. Well," he corrected, "_you'll_ have the time to investigate. I need to put in some hours at Central Coast to make up for all the time I've missed recently. Lassiter isn't the only one stressed by this case being unsolved."

"I just don't know if it can wait that long . . ." Shawn said, perching on the edge of his desk and letting his gaze lose focus as he looked out the window.

"Then let's finish this now," Gus said and swung around, sitting up straight.

Shawn shook himself and stood. "You're right. Splitting my attention isn't helping. Let's solve this case." He clapped his hands and rubbed them together as he walked over to the clear board.

"We'll take this one step at a time." He did a silent eeny-meeny-miney-moe in his head, then pronounced: "Motive."

"There isn't one," Gus said immediately.

"Stop being negative, Gus. There is _always_ a motive. People don't just wake up one day and plan a series of flawless jewel heists without a reason."

"What if the reason is because they can?"

"That's still a reason." Shawn considered it for a moment. "And a good possibility for this thief. But we can't prove that right now, so let's try thinking a little more. _Outside_ the box this time."

"Shawn, there is no unifying factor that ties all of the jewels together," Gus pointed out. "It's not value. There were so many others to pick up at half the locations. And none of these places were cleaned out. Only a single jewel was taken from each one."

"So our thief isn't greedy," Shawn concluded. "That's one motive we can eliminate," he said with a grin.

Gus did not look impressed.

"Great. Now we only have an infinite number left."

"Not infinite. Just unknown."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Oh that's _so_ much better."

"It's progress," Shawn said. "The journey of a thousand miles begins with one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." He frowned and scanned the board. "We took our step, now we just need to find . . . Wait a minute," he said and froze.

"What? You have something?"

"Yes."

"You know who did it?"

"No."

"You know why?"

"No."

"You know how?"

"No."

"Well what then?"

"I'm going to be late for dinner."

"You're _what_?" Gus demanded.

"If I don't leave right _now_, I'm going to be late for dinner with my dad and I still have to pick up Juliet and Jaime. I gotta go. We'll finish this later," he called as he headed out the door at a sprint.

"Shawn!" Gus yelled, but he knew it was too late.

Muttering dark threats under his breath, Gus grabbed his jacket and followed Shawn to the parking lot. He was going out to eat tonight. He deserved a reward for once again resisting the urge to kill his best friend.

o.o

A knock on the door had Henry checking his watch. It was too early to be Shawn and Juliet.

She'd called not forty-five minutes before and said that Jaime had only just gone down for his afternoon nap. She wanted to give him at least an hour so she could catch her breath before she revived him and Shawn wasn't home yet anyway. He was still working on the Rimini burglaries and had called to say he was on his way, but he'd be a little late.

Gus was, more than likely, with Shawn, so it wasn't him either.

When Henry opened the door and found Carlton Lassiter standing there, however, he was a little surprised.

"Carlton," he greeted, and opened the screen door. "Come on in."

"Thank you," the younger man said and accepted the invitation. He shut the door behind himself and followed Henry back to the kitchen.

"Drink?" the retired cop asked.

"No thanks," Lassiter said as he looked around the room. It hadn't changed in the last seven years with one exception: the fridge door was now hidden. Mostly by candid shots and birthday shots and Christmas shots of Jaime or crayon scribbles from the same, though tucked in amongst the rest was a three by five of Shawn and Juliet on their wedding day, both of them grinning like fools and looking nauseatingly in love.

He quickly shifted his gaze to the stove to where Henry was cooking—shock and amazement—fish.

"Been a while since we went out on the boat," his host said. "I know you're in the middle of a big jewel heist right now, but maybe when it's wrapped up we can go see what's biting?"

"Yeah," Carlton said. He morbidly wondered if that would ever happen. The odds of all of them ending up in jail was increasing by the moment. There wasn't a lot of fishing to be done in jail.

"What brings you around here?" Henry asked as he flipped the fish in the skillet.

Lassiter shrugged, feeling reluctance to open the topic of discussion now that he was here. "Just wondering how you were doing."

Henry splashed a sauce of some kind on the fish and set it snapping and popping, then turned to lean against the counter and folded his arms over his chest.

"I'm doing just fine. Juliet's still in some pain, but if she takes it easy it's not so bad. Shawn you see more than I do, so you probably know better than me. And Jaime has already mastered counting to ten without his fingers and is anxious to start learning the alphabet. Now that we've exhausted all of the obvious delaying tactics, why did you _really_ come here?"

Carlton feigned surprise. "I can't just check on a friend I haven't seen in a while?"

"No," Henry said without missing a beat. "What's up?"

Carlton remained silent and considered how best to phrase it.

Henry filled the gap while he deliberated. "Okay. We'll go for the less obvious stalls. I hear you got a new partner while Juliet's temporarily out of commission."

"McNabb," Lassiter said with a nod, grateful for the further delay. "He made detective a week before Juliet left. Chief Vick was planning to assign him to Jackson, but he's got another two months of rehab before he'll be back at his desk. So he's been temporarily assigned to me."

"He's the tall one that grins a lot, right?"

"It's like being partnered with a puppy," Carlton said, making Henry chuckle with the aggravation that came through in his tone. "It could be worse, of course. I could be partnered with-"

Henry just laughed at the momentary look of panic on the other man's face when he stopped cold.

"Shawn," Henry finished. "You could be partnered with Shawn. But he's not a real cop and Karen doesn't want to see you go to prison for strangling him anyway, so I think you're safe in that respect."

"I don't know how you let him survive to adulthood," Carlton confessed.

"Some days, neither do I." He flipped the fish again and asked, "Is it about Shawn?"

And that was the end of the stalling. Unfortunately he still didn't have the right words.

Before he found them, the sound of the front screen door opening and closing with a bang sounded and then little footsteps pounded towards them.

"Grampa! Grampa! Guess what I did today!"

James Daniel Spencer—Jaime to everyone except his angry mother—slid to a stop and began babbling nonstop at his grandfather who listened attentively as he continued to watch the fish.

Carlton observed the three-year-old bounce and dance and wiggle in his excitement and decided that he was probably seeing thirty-four years into the past. The only thing out of place was the towhead he'd inherited from his mother, but otherwise he was the spitting image of his father down to those green eyes that brimmed with mischief.

"Wait just a minute here," Henry interrupted when Jaime stopped to take in a breath. "I thought you were supposed to be napping."

Jaime rolled his eyes. "I'm too _old_ for naps."

"He's too high on sugar from the candy bar he stole from my stash for naps," Juliet corrected as she entered the kitchen. She had a bowl of something covered with plastic wrap in one hand, the other resting on her bulging stomach.

"Hello, Carlton," she said when she spotted him. She smiled as always, but there was a hint of uncertainty to it and a shadow of concern in her eyes.

It made Lassiter suddenly self-conscious. Was he that transparent?

She set the bowl down, shifted in a moment of indecision, then rounded the table and enveloped him in a hug.

To say it took him by surprise was an understatement and after she pulled away he gazed at her in confusion.

She just smiled again, then turned and began fussing with the food she'd brought.

"Carlton?" Jaime repeated, then turned and spotted the quiet detective. "Lassie-face!" he yelled and ran over to say hello. He latched onto Carlton's leg and hugged while the owner of the leg rolled his eyes.

Yeah, that just made his day, knowing that Spencer had taught his son the nickname he hated the most.

Not that he was going to call Jaime on it. He'd been wrong earlier, he realized. Jaime wasn't as charming as his father.

He was as charming as his father _and_ as endearing as his mother. That was a lethal combination and there was no defense against it.

Juliet gave her son a stern look and Henry turned away to conceal a smile and stifle a laugh, but neither got in the first words.

"Jaime!" Shawn said as he entered, a plate of something that looked dessertish under the foil covering in his hands. "Buddy! Remember that talk we had?"

"The one about how I'm not supposed to call him that to his face?" Jaime asked innocently.

Now Shawn was on the receiving end of Juliet's stern look as he chuckled. Henry's shoulders shook in silent laughter while he tended to the stove.

"No," Shawn said and set the plate on the table and scooped up his son, swinging him onto his shoulder. "You're not supposed to call him that at all." Shawn grinned at Lassiter. "Only I can. Hi, Lassie-face!" The tone was cheery and exactly what everyone would expect, but there was caution and the wary anticipation of things blowing up in his face in Shawn's eyes.

"Spencer," Carlton said through gritted teeth as the youngest member of the clan giggled.

Lassiter wasn't going to continue their earlier discussion right now—even he wasn't that stupid or heartless. He was still pissed about Shawn going behind his back and sneaking into the museum, but his realizations in the car had changed things. Now it wasn't just a question of whether or not to turn the fake psychic in, but possibly protection from whoever was intent on ruining him.

Lassiter's life was too complicated these days.

"What brings you by?" Juliet asked as she helped Henry set the table. Shawn was flipping Jaime around so he giggled more, but after dealing with the rowdy child for the last half of the day—thank goodness for mornings at the daycare—Juliet was more than happy to let his equally rambunctious father help burn some of that energy.

"I just came by to see how Henry's doing. But you're obviously getting ready to eat so I should go."

"Oh no, don't hurry off," she said. "Stay and eat. There's enough, right, Henry?"

"More than enough," Henry agreed.

"No, really," Lassiter said, backing towards the door. "I've got plans. I just . . . I was in the area and stopped by and now I really should be going."

"Don't be a comatose sloth, Lassie," Shawn said. He was looking down at his son who was hanging upside down and swinging back and forth, but he looked up when he added, "You love fish. And Juliet made raspberry bars for dessert. I know you love raspberry bars," he finished in a singsong. Once again the lightness in his tone was proven false by the serious look in his eyes. He was obviously hoping to mend some fences.

"Raspberry bars?" Lassiter asked, hesitating. He did love raspberry bars and the way Juliet made them . . .

No. Staying was a bad idea. He had to make a decision on what to do about the DVD and it was clear that Henry wasn't going to be a good sounding board right now. Maybe sleeping on it for another night was a good idea anyway.

Yeah, he'd come back tomorrow.

It had nothing to do with feeling like a traitor for watching them live their lives with no idea it could all come tumbling down very soon.

Lassiter desperately wanted to believe he wasn't going soft, so he fell back on his old standby of biting contempt. "I have a string of jewel thefts to solve, Spencer. I don't have time for raspberry bars."

With that he left, knowing that behind him looks of confusion were being exchanged.

He'd made it outside and almost to his car before Shawn caught up to him.

"Lassiter, wait!"

With a roll of his eyes and a frustrated sigh he turned around.

"What is it now, Spencer?"

"You okay, man?"

The sincerity in the question just frayed his temper more.

"Just fine," he bit out. "If you'll excuse me."

But Shawn was never one to let things go and this time was no exception. He grabbed the door to Carlton's car and held onto it when the other man tried to yank it shut.

"Spencer," Carlton said in a low voice. "Let go of the door."

"Not until you tell me what's up. Is it the case?" Lassiter rolled his eyes and yanked again, to no avail. "Because I'm getting a strong vibe that we're going to solve it really soon. We're so close and I think-"

"Did the spirits tell you that?" Lassiter snapped with more than a little bitterness.

Shawn cut off in surprise and stared at his quasi-partner.

"Seriously, Carlton, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong is that I'm still here with _you _when I could be out looking for a thief."

Shawn finally let go of the door and Lassiter slammed it with just a bit more force than necessary.

"Go eat your fish and your raspberry bars, Spencer. Don't worry about the case. Let an actual detective do that."

He shifted into reverse and pulled out. Glancing in the rearview mirror he saw Shawn still standing there, confusion on his face.

Well good. When it came to Shawn that described most of the last seven years for Lassiter. Let the fake psychic see how it felt for a while.

Maybe by the time Shawn had figured out what was wrong, he would have decided what to do about that stupid DVD.

At the moment he was wishing he'd thrown it in the trash as soon as he saw it. Unfortunately that was no longer an option.

He debated what to do now and decided on going home and looking at the case files again. The clue he needed had to be in there somewhere. And it wouldn't drive him nuts like the question of what to do about Shawn and the DVD.

* * *

The plot thickens . . .

:cue ominous music:

Dude, I've always wanted to say that in an author's note! :D LOL!

So, you know the drill, right? Review, please and thanks!


	8. 7 The Ties That Bind

Chapter 7: The Ties That Bind

* * *

It was inching closer to the end of the day but Lassiter was still awake. He was going over forensics reports and crime scene photos trying to find what it was that they were missing. No crime was this perfect. There had to be a mistake somewhere, something they could use-

A knock at the door interrupted his frustrated musings.

He glanced at his watch, noted the late time, and then rolled his eyes.

Ten bucks said it was Spencer come to try to apologize again or something.

Lassiter debated ignoring it, but when the knock came again he shifted Dinah off his lap and stood. She stretched and gave a meow that demanded to know why she'd been awakened, then followed him to the door to see who it was that had disturbed her comfortable slumber.

He yanked the door open, angry rant already pooling on the end of his tongue . . . and then swallowed it whole when he saw that it wasn't the Spencer he was expecting.

"Henry?"

"Carlton," Henry said with a nod. "Can I come in?"

"Um . . . yeah. Sure. Of course." He stepped back and allowed the other man in, then shut the door behind him. "What are you doing here?"

Henry shrugged as he led the way into the den where the case files lay spread out. Dinah—familiar with this person since he always brought her little chunks of dried fish—rubbed up against his ankles and purred.

Henry smiled and crouched down, producing the expected treats from his pocket. He fed them to her and stroked her spine, then straightened again when they were gone.

"You came to feed my cat dried fish bits at midnight?" Lassiter asked.

Henry chuckled and took a seat, making himself at home.

"No. I came because you had a problem and my idiot of a son chased you away."

Oh.

Lassiter sighed and retook his seat on the couch, absently petting Dinah when she leapt up and bumped his hand with her head in request.

"It's not that important," he said dismissively.

Henry just raised his eyebrows. "Well it doesn't look like you're going to sleep any time soon so I'm not keeping you up. Maybe you can tell me about this jewel theft case. Shawn says it's a real brain buster."

Lassiter looked at Henry and considered, then decided that now was as good a time as any. And he probably wasn't going to leave until he'd gotten what he came for anyway.

"Evidence has come forward that casts doubt on Shawn's claim of being a psychic."

Henry didn't immediately react, then he leaned forward and said matter of factly, "How strong is it?"

Lassiter blinked. He'd expected more of a denial.

"I found this in my mailbox a few weeks ago," he said and pulled out the zip-lock baggie that he'd been keeping it in to preserve any fingerprints or other forensic evidence. He doubted there was anything there, but he didn't want to spoil it with mishandling if he ended up using it.

Henry accepted it and looked it over, noting the words written on it.

"What's it got?"

"A surveillance video of your son and his partner at their office planning one of Shawn's visions. It's not conclusive I'll admit, but . . . it doesn't look good either."

Henry nodded, still turning the disc over in his hands. "You said you've had this for a few weeks. I'm assuming that because my son is still walking around free and clear that you haven't shown this to anyone else at the department." Lassiter nodded and Henry asked the $64,000 question: "Why not?"

Carlton ran a hand through his hair and then laughed. "You know, I don't really know."

Henry frowned and he continued.

"I was going to. I almost have several times but . . ." He looked up. "I don't know if I should."

Henry leveled a stern look on the younger man that had Lassiter feeling like he was back at the academy. Without conscious thought he sat up straighter.

"This is evidence of a crime and you are a detective with the Santa Barbara Police Department. It is your obligation and responsibility to deliver this evidence to Chief Vick and see that an investigation is initiated to further determine the validity of it." He dropped the disc on the table and startled Dinah out of her doze. She yawned and stretched, then turned a circle and plopped back down, twisting so her white belly was exposed and ready to be rubbed.

Lassiter obliged, but he was still focused on Henry.

"So you think I should turn him in? Even though he's your son?"

"You know that I myself arrested him, right?"

"Well, yeah, but that was twenty years ago. What about his family?"

Henry tilted his head.

"Are _you_ suggesting that we remain quiet about this? That we suppress evidence of a crime?"

Lassiter looked quite baffled as to how to answer.

Henry let him think for a minute, then leaned back and took pity on him.

"Why did you come to me tonight instead of going to Karen a month ago?"

"Because . . . because I still don't know what to do. You're right. I should have immediately turned this into Karen and arrested Shawn."

"But?" Henry prompted.

"But . . ." He trailed off, then moved Dinah to the couch and got up to pace while he explained. "He's not _technically_ hurting anyone. And he's kind of useful. And those are really bad excuses, I know," he said before Henry could start what he'd opened his mouth to say. "But . . ."

He paused to gather his thoughts and Henry let him, crossing his arms over his chest while he waited.

"You obviously know about this," Lassiter said, then added, "You don't have to answer that and incriminate yourself. I'm just thinking out loud at the moment."

Henry stayed quiet, more to not interrupt the train of thought than because he was worried about incriminating himself.

"I _know_ Guster knows. Besides the video evidence I've got, he and Shawn are as close as any two friends I have ever seen."

"Since they were barely old enough to talk," was all Henry would say.

"My problem comes in the fact that I don't know if Juliet knows."

"Does that make a difference?" Henry asked.

"It shouldn't," Carlton said.

"But it does," Henry responded. It wasn't a question.

Carlton turned and sighed again, then dropped back onto the couch and buried his face in his hands.

After a moment he looked up again.

"It's not about her being my partner. I mean, it kind of is, but not really."

"So what is it about?" Henry asked.

"Jaime."

Henry's eyebrows went up again.

"Jaime?" he repeated. "I thought it was about Juliet."

"Well . . . it is. It's about both. It's about the fact that I don't know that I can be the one to take both his parents, his grandfather, and his surrogate uncle away from him. Not to mention the effect this will have on the baby that's not even born yet."

"But if Shawn is breaking the law, what kind of example is he setting for his son? Is that really the home Jaime should be in?"

Lassiter thought about that for a second, then frowned. "Whose side are you on?"

Henry shook his head. "I'm not on a side in this conflict. This is all you. I just want to make sure you really think this though before you act, because once you do there won't be any going back."

Lassiter's expression relaxed and he said softly. "I know. That's why I've waited."

"Okay, let's think about this logically."

Carlton sat up straight and grabbed a legal pad and pen. "I considered making a pros and cons list, but it was in the middle of Juliet's visit to the hospital and I never got around to it after that."

"Well let's take the time now."

They spent the next half hour debating points in favor of turning Shawn in or destroying the DVD and never thinking about it again. Henry did his best to play devil's advocate, but there was little he mentioned that Carlton hadn't already considered a thousand times.

Then Lassiter brought up the notion he'd had about the tipster and how he thought the phone call was connected to the DVD and that his inactivity might push the man to take more drastic measures.

That had Henry a little worried and Lassiter said that he had yet to think of a way to protect Shawn and his family without tipping them off that something else was going on.

"Leave that to me," Henry said. "I'm always warning him about being careful, but maybe it's time we talked about early retirement."

Lassiter gratefully conceded the duty and then looked at his list.

It was a written edition of the thoughts that had been chasing around in his head for the last few weeks and while it felt good to have them in ink and quantified so precisely, as he scanned it now he wasn't sure it would help much.

It wasn't a simple matter of which side had more bullets—especially since the number was evenly tied. The items listed were not nearly even in their weight.

How did one balance driving Lassiter nuts against Jaime and his unborn sibling losing their entire family in one fell swoop?

Or, conversely, defrauding the police department for seven years against maybe possibly thinking of Shawn as something that resembled a friend?

He let his head drop back and closed his eyes.

Maybe he was wrong, he thought. Maybe the tipster wasn't after Shawn.

Maybe he was just trying to drive _him _insane.

"Carlton, look at me."

At the soft command he raised his head and blinked away the exhaustion that had been creeping up on him. All the sleepless nights were beginning to take their toll.

"You've made your list. You know how things stack up. Now you have to decide one way or the other what you're going to do."

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes and the bridge of his nose where a headache was beginning to form.

"I can't do it for you," Henry continued. "And putting it off by thinking it to death won't make it go away."

"I know."

Henry nodded and stood.

"Well, I'm not as young as I used to be and there's nothing else I can do here, so I'm going to call it a night."

Lassiter started to stand, but Henry waved him off.

"I know where the door is."

He stopped to give Dinah a last scratch between the ears, then left.

Carlton stayed where he was for another few long moments, then dropped the legal pad on the table and pushed to his feet.

"Come on, Dinah," he said wearily, leaving everything where it was. "Time for bed."

He delayed just long enough to set and check all the locks and his security system, then he shuffled off to toss and turn until dawn.

o.o

Henry drove home but didn't immediately go to bed, despite what he'd told Lassiter.

He sat on the porch and watched the moonlight on the ocean and thought about his own dilemma.

Seven years ago he'd seen this day coming. He'd foolishly thought that he'd figure out what to do before it happened—but not right now. He'd do it later.

And now it was too late.

He was surprised, however, at how little internal conflict he felt over this whole thing.

By all rights he should be working up into a fine panic over what to do. Six lives were potentially about to be drastically changed—one of them not even begun yet—and he was feeling remarkably calm about it. Seven lives if you counted Lassiter, who would certainly take some fire over this.

Maybe his sanguine attitude came from the fact that he just couldn't see Shawn—or any of them for that matter—actually ending up in prison over this.

Once upon a time, maybe, but gone was the kid who'd do _anything_ to get out of trouble, even if it meant shifting the blame so someone else took the punishment in his place.

He'd been replaced by a man who had matured—in a still loose interpretation of the word—into a father, husband, and son that knew how to take responsibility and would do so when he had to.

And if Shawn didn't go down for this, he wouldn't let anyone else take the fall either.

But quite simply, despite the maturation over thirty-seven years—and especially the _last_ seven—he'd pretty much proven to Henry that his son had a silver tongue that could get him out of most situations and the charm to make up any difference. He'd gotten both from his mother.

From him Shawn had gotten . . . well it wasn't something he was comfortable saying out loud considering Shawn's use of said inheritance, but he'd gotten the rare gift of exceptional skills in the field of criminal detection. He had a mind that was as sharp as a Ginsu and faster than a seagull chasing a French fry down on the boardwalk.

And he'd managed to do something with it. Seven years of something with it, though, again, his methods left a little to be desired.

Henry couldn't help but feel a little pride in that and the contributions—however unintentional—that he'd made.

Shawn would do at least seven more, too, given the chance.

This little hiccup was just that. Little and fleeting. He'd go into Karen's office and smile and make a joke, maybe flip and flop a bit, and then he'd turn this thing around and probably nail his accuser with some crime that would put him in jail where he expected Shawn to go.

In truth, Henry was more worried about the other thing Lassiter had said, about how determined this informant seemed to be.

It was pretty obvious that unless Carlton turned the disc in and Shawn was packed off to prison this wouldn't stop.

But until Shawn could pin him down—and Shawn would pin him down, Henry was sure—there was an unknown threat. Would he escalate to harming Shawn's family to get his revenge?

Henry sighed and shook his head. The things his son got into.

He'd said he would warn Shawn and he meant to. The question was, how much should he tell him and when?

He wasn't keen on turning his son into a fugitive from the law by telling him to leave tomorrow and never come back, but at the same time . . . Lassiter had a point. Jaime and the baby didn't deserve to end up in the black hole known as family services and the foster system.

Or should he wait and see how Lassiter's decision—whatever it was—turned out? It might be a moot point if the disc was revealed and Shawn could identify the man right away.

And on top of all this was the fact that Karen knew what was going on with Shawn not being psychic.

That was the other reason Henry wasn't so worried about them all going to prison. Karen had played a part in this and she wouldn't let Shawn and the rest of them take all the blame either.

It really wasn't as bad as Lassiter feared.

And yet neither was it all that good either.

How much flack would Karen take for this? he mused. She could try to play it off as a confidential situation and a need to know basis, but would that really be enough?

Maybe he should warn _her_ instead of the impending storm.

Tomorrow, he decided. He'd go to the police station in the morning and let Karen know that she needed to be prepared for the possibility of Shawn's façade coming to an end. Then he'd find Shawn and have a discussion about quitting while he was ahead.

He'd done seven years of good work—and proved Henry and everyone else wrong along the way—but maybe it was time to take down the old shingle and retire on a high note. He needed to be there for his kids and the longer this went on the less likely that was.

Decision made Henry rose and stretched, then went inside and ended his day.

o.o

Shawn's brain never quite shut down.

Even when he wasn't conscious it was still chugging away, working on various things that he'd begun thinking about while awake.

More than once in their five years of wedded bliss Juliet had been awakened by him sitting bolt upright in bed and declaring a random thought that had coalesced into a more concrete form during slumber. But even if it was concrete it wasn't generally coherent or in context.

After all, who was expected to understand the relevance of 'Mangled baby ducks!' at three a.m.?

Sometimes he'd lay back down and just ponder his unexpected revelation. Sometimes he'd get up and go do something about it. Unless it was _really_ important he rarely bothered Juliet with it. That she was a creature who needed her sleep with minimal interruptions was a lesson he'd learned very early in their marriage.

Tonight, for example, he popped up and yelled, "Pizza is the key!"

She cracked one eye, saw the confusion flit over his face as _he_ tried to to decipher what that meant, then watched as understanding took over his expression.

He slid carefully out of bed so as to not disturb her any more than he already had, then ran from the room like a pack of crazed hedgehogs were nipping at his heels.

She let her eye drift shut again, rolled over into a more comfortable position, and was asleep before she'd stopped moving.

* * *

BWA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA! How's that for a cliffie?

Okay, it's not really much of one . . .

BUT STILL! Will Shawn agree to retire? What will Lassie's decision be? And what does pizza have to do with anything?

Tune in next week! Same Psych time, same Psych channel!

Er . . . site . . .

Whatever.

:D


	9. 8 The Right To Face One's Accuser

Chapter 8: The Right To Face One's Accuser

* * *

Henry was retired and—though he hated to admit it—getting old, so he didn't show up first thing that morning. In fact, it was almost ten by the time he arrived at the station.

Karen was present and alone in her office so he knocked on the glass. She looked up, faint surprise on her face as she motioned for him to come in.

He shut the door behind himself and she stood and extended a hand as he approached the desk.

"Henry," she greeted. "This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you by?"

"Oh you know me, I just can't stay away from this place."

Karen laughed lightly. "I never thought it would be easy for you."

"Actually, there is a specific reason why I came today."

"Does it have to do with Shawn?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "When does it _not_ have to do with Shawn?"

Karen chuckled and set aside the forms she'd been signing.

"What's going on?"

"Seven years ago I came into this office and we talked about the fact that my son is not a psychic."

"I remember."

"You said that you were going to allow it for as long as he was interested."

"I'll admit I didn't expect it to last this long," she confessed.

"Neither did I. I asked at the time what you would do if he was revealed as a fraud. You didn't really answer and I didn't push it. But I've been thinking about it recently. _Do_ you have a plan in mind if someone is able to prove he's not psychic?"

"I'll give you the same answer I did then. How would they? Short of Shawn admitting it-"

"Say he did admit it. And someone caught that moment of stupidity on tape. Then what?"

"Video or audio?" she asked cautiously, wondering if this was more than the idle ponderings of a retired cop with too much time on his hands.

He waved it away. "Doesn't matter. Either one. The question is, are you prepared for the possibility?"

"What's really behind this, Henry? Is there a specific incident-"

"I'm just curious," he interrupted before she could finish her question. If she hadn't asked, then, technically, when he didn't answer it wasn't a lie.

She pursed her lips and considered her response, but before she got it out a commotion in the bullpen distracted her.

Juliet had just come running into the station, clutching her stomach and looking around wildly until she spotted Shawn who was—from the looks of it—arguing over a plate of some sort of dessert with Lassiter.

Upon her arrival though the argument was forgotten and Shawn shoved the plate into Lassiter's hands and wrapped an arm around Juliet's waist to support her, his teasing smile replaced by concern.

Whatever Juliet said next had the blood draining from Shawn's face and Lassiter setting down the plate and focusing completely on his partner.

Karen was on her feet by this point and headed out the door, Henry on her heels when he saw what had stolen her attention.

They joined the group just in time to hear Juliet's declaration.

"Jaime's been kidnapped," she panted as she bent over, wincing at the way her whole lower body protested. Running at eight and a half months of pregnancy was not a good idea. With her sciatic nerve problem it was downright torture. It couldn't be helped at the moment, but that didn't make it any less painful.

"What?" Shawn, Lassiter, and Henry demanded. The third voice caused the first two to glance back in surprise, but Juliet began to explain and it was pushed aside for more important issues.

"Mrs. Grady called me from the daycare and told me she couldn't find him. I thought maybe he was hiding again. You know how he is."

Shawn nodded and she continued. "So I went over there. We looked everywhere but we couldn't find him. Then I got a call on my cell phone. I don't know who it was, the number was unknown. It was a man, maybe thirties, no accent, very deep voice. He said that-" She put a hand to her mouth to stem a sudden bout of tears as the shock of what had happened began to wear off and the reality of the situation began to sink in.

Lassiter grabbed his chair and pulled it over and Shawn helped her sink into it, then crouched by her side, rubbing her back.

"It's okay," he soothed. "Take few breaths," he encouraged. "That's it. When you're ready, tell us what he said."

When she'd managed to contain herself enough to speak she recounted the words. "He asked if I thought you were psychic. I told him that I knew you were. He said that I didn't have to lie to him. He knew the truth. After all, if you were psychic you'd know where Jaime was. He said that if you _did_ know you could go get him right away. He gave me a deadline, ten minutes, and said that if you got to him in less than that he'd believe you were psychic.

"But if you aren't psychic you won't be able to find him in time. You'll have to call him and admit the truth and he'll tell you where Jaime is. I said that I didn't even know if he really had Jaime. He-" She stopped to gulp down more tears and then continued.

"He described the clothes Jaime was wearing and he told me to look behind the dodgeball wall and I'd find Jaime's left shoe. When you were ready to confess you could call the number on the paper inside—if you needed it."

She held up a gallon zip-lock bag, the shoe in question inside with a piece of crumpled paper sticking out of it. Shawn looked at it as Lassiter took it and snapped his fingers to call over McNabb who'd been watching with undisguised curiosity from his desk across the aisle, just waiting to be summoned.

"Get this down to the lab, get me fingerprints first, then have it run through every lab test they have. I want to know anything they can tell me about anyone who's touched it."

McNabb nodded and took the bag, heading off at a quick trot.

"Shawn, he has our baby," she said, struggling to maintain her police detective composure against a mother's worry and pregnancy hormones. It wasn't an easy fight and the outcome changed with every heartbeat that passed.

"I know, Jules. I'll get him back," Shawn promised and hugged her. "He'll be safe and sound in your arms before you know it."

She nodded and accepted the tissues Lassiter got for her. "Thank you," she said in a thick voice.

"Juliet," Karen asked, "did you get a look at the number on the note?"

"555-2785," Shawn answered in a subdued tone. "It's the kidnapper's number, or at least the one he wants us to think is his. I doubt he's actually sitting by the phone but we should run the number anyway. There may be _some_ connection to him."

Karen nodded and Lassiter turned to grab his desk phone to contact the phone company.

Karen bent down and looked Juliet in the eyes.

"We'll find him." She looked to Shawn and he nodded once, sharply, in agreement, then turned back to Juliet.

"I have to go work on finding out where Jaime is. Will you be okay here?"

She nodded and wiped at her nose, reluctant to let him go, but well aware that he was their best chance for bringing Jaime home safe.

Shawn stood and turned to his father. He didn't know why he was here, but at the moment he was grateful.

"Dad, can you-"

"Go," Henry interrupted with a soft voice.

"Thanks," Shawn breathed fervently and stepped a few feet away to call Gus. Karen was issuing more orders to officers to assist in the search while Henry offered Juliet a hand up and invited her to come sit on the much more comfortable couch in Karen's office—he didn't think that she'd mind his usurping her authority in this case. Juliet just nodded her thanks and accepted the hand.

Shawn pulled out his cell phone and dialed Gus's number, but he kept an eye on Juliet while he paced. She was limping a little—and obviously trying to hide it—but Henry was assisting her so she could get to the couch and lay down. He pushed the concern for her health into a box and slammed the lid on tight.

One problem at a time.

He drummed the fingers of one hand on his thigh while the other kept a grip on the phone so tightly that he would have been worried about crushing it if he had any worry left over. He counted the rings and muttered uncomplimentary things about Gus's parentage while he waited. Finally it stopped and there was a click of a pick up.

"_I don't really have time to celebrate right now, Shawn,_" Gus said before Shawn could speak.

"Well there's not much of a celebration going on here at the moment," Shawn replied. Gus heard the myriad of emotions in his friend's voice and immediately realized something was wrong.

"_Is it Juliet?_" he asked.

"She's part of it," Shawn answered, but the way he said it sent relief through Gus. The tone by itself said she wasn't in the hospital and nothing else had happened to the baby.

"_What is it?_" he asked.

"Jaime's been kidnapped."

Silence reigned for a full thirty seconds while Gus stopped what he was doing and tried to process that.

"_What?_" he finally demanded.

"Jaime's been kidnapped. Look, I need you to come down to the station and sit with Juliet. My dad's here but I'd feel better with you here as well. I have to go find Jaime."

"_I'm on my way,_" Gus said without hesitation. "_Ten minutes max._"

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it," Shawn said sincerely.

He saw Lassiter scribbling something down and started over. "She's in Chief's office. I gotta go." He didn't wait for Gus to acknowledge the goodbye before snapping his phone shut and taking the last two steps to Lassiter's desk.

"What did you get?"

Lassiter shook his head.

"Nothing yet. They're working on it."

Shawn glanced at the paper and saw that it was simply a name and extension for someone at the phone company. He resisted the urge to punch something, but it was close. He settled for resuming the pacing and tapping on his thigh.

Lassiter watched this from his desk and felt the unexpected urge to say something. That wasn't really his territory, though. Juliet was the sympathetic cop who consoled the victims and their families. He was the tough cop that scared confessions out of criminals. He'd always been comfortable with that division of responsibilities, but now . . .

"There's something here that I'm missing," Shawn said as he walked his route from in front of Lassiter's desk to the far wall across the hall and back.

It was almost painful to watch this rare appearance of the concerned and serious Shawn Spencer. This side of him only came out when someone he cared about was in danger—like now. And knowing without a doubt that he wasn't psychic made it that much harder to watch.

Not that Lassiter knew how he did it still, but there was something Shawn had, some connection or inside track that he exploited to get the information he needed to make the brilliant deductions he did.

And now it was failing him. He had nothing.

Or maybe he did and he just didn't know it. The worry was distracting him—not that Lassiter blamed the man for worrying about his abducted three-year-old son, but it wasn't helping.

Maybe all he needed was to be able to refocus. Drain some of that worry away and replace it with something more productive. Past experience had taught him that nothing motivated Shawn Spencer to success more than proving he was right and you were wrong.

A nice heated argument to let some of that pressure out helped, too.

And while Head Detective Carlton Lassiter of the Santa Barbara Police Department sucked at offering a shoulder to cry on, he was a recognized expert at being a jerk.

"What's the matter, Spencer? No communications from the spirit world?" he asked dryly.

Shawn stiffened in disbelief, then turned, ready to lash out at the other man for not taking this seriously.

The look in Lassiter's eyes stopped his tirade before it began and his brow furrowed as his anger at the detective dribbled out, replaced by confusion. Something wasn't quite right about the way he'd said it . . . there was . . .

Shawn shook his head. He didn't have time to decipher Lassie's odd behavior right now.

Right now he had to focus on figuring out where Jaime was.

Unfortunately, Lassiter wasn't ready to give it up. He stood and rounded his desk. "You _are_ psychic, aren't you? The kidnapper said that if you _were_ you could go pick Jaime up right now. So why are we still here?"

Shawn bit his tongue to keep from saying something he'd regret—like the fact that if ever he'd wished he really was psychic it was now—but he managed. Seven years of playing psychic came to his rescue.

"It's . . . very hard to focus . . . with all the emotions . . . raging around here." He hissed and raised two fingers to his temple. "I can't . . ." He shook his head and dropped his hand with a weary sigh. "I can't get anything right now. It might be because I'm so close to the situation. That can interfere, too."

"Really," Lassiter said smugly and leaned back against his desk, arms folded over his chest.

Shawn glared again, but once more was thrown off by the what he saw reflected back in the level stare of the head detective.

It didn't match the words or the tone. It was almost like . . . like he _wanted_ to believe Shawn was psychic? But why? Why now?

And if that was the case . . . why was he acting like he didn't?

In fact, other than his eyes it almost seemed like he wasn't concerned at all. Like he was only thinking about the fact that this might be his chance to prove Shawn wasn't really psychic.

But that didn't fit.

Carlton Lassiter wasn't a giant, fluffy teddy bear by anyone's standards, but the memory of the visit to the hospital where he'd voluntarily taken Jaime surfaced in Shawn's mind.

It wasn't alone either. Shawn could recount—and show pictures—of other acts of kindness between the detective and his son. And Lassiter and Juliet. Even one or two rare cases of Lassiter being nice to Shawn popped up—though those were generally under extenuating circumstances. But still.

Carlton cared about Jaime. He cared about all of them.

So why was he acting like he didn't?

Shawn never got a chance to find the answer to that question.

Lassiter's phone rang and out of pure reflex he spun and snatched the hand set up.

"Lassiter," he barked.

He listened for a heartbeat, then leaned over to grab a pen and almost slipped off the edge of his desk as he tried to stand and turn so he could write down whatever he was being told.

"Anything else?" he asked after a second. "Got it," he affirmed and then straightened and dropped the phone back on the cradle, not bothering to see if it landed in the right place.

"What is it?" Shawn asked, the confusing near argument forgotten.

"Does the name Fieldstone Industries mean anything to you?"

"Sounds familiar but I can't place it at the moment," Shawn said. "Why?"

"The phone is registered to a business by that name that owns a warehouse downtown."

"Let's go."

"Spencer, we can't just go busting in there. He no doubt expected us to find this out."

"Of course he did. But I'm getting a very strong vibe," he said, putting two fingers to his temple and closing his eyes out of reflex more than anything else. "He knows I won't call. He's counting on it. He's expecting me to show up in person. But," he said opening his eyes. "I'm not an idiot so I'm taking backup." He dropped his hand and pointed at Lassiter. "That's you. Now let's go."

"So now your powers are back? Do the spirits have anything to say about how it could be a trap?"

"It _could_ be a trap, but it _is_ my son's life. I'm going."

"We _could_ try calling first anyway," Lassiter said, mimicking Shawn's tone. "Just for kicks and giggles."

"Not enough time. Let's move!"

Lassiter rolled his eyes, but short of tackling the other man and dragging him back in the station he wasn't likely to stop him so he was left with only one other option: Go with him and make sure he didn't do something stupid.

Grabbing his jacket, he jogged after Shawn.

"Detective Lassiter!" McNabb called.

"Tell me on the way," Lassiter directed and waved for his temporary partner to join him in chasing down the fake psychic.

McNabb might be a puppy of a partner but he was obedient and he was bigger than Shawn and both of those could come in handy, Lassiter decided. If nothing else the two of them together could physically overpower Spencer and drag him back here if need be.

He hoped.

o.o

From his spot in the backseat McNabb shared what the lab had been able to come up with in a hurry.

"The prints on the shoe belong to three identified individuals and one unidentified."

"The unidentified will be Mrs. Grady," Shawn said. "Juliet and I make two of the identified. Who's the-" He stopped cold, then cursed.

"What?" Lassiter demanded.

"Lawrence Fieldstone! Duh!" Shawn said and smacked his forehead.

"How'd you know?" McNabb asked.

"Who?" Lassiter asked.

"I knew I knew that name. Fieldstone Industries. Lawrence Fieldstone. Geeze! Man, my brain is fried right now."

Lassiter ignored that, though he wholeheartedly agreed—and maybe understood. "The name isn't familiar to me. Who is he? Someone you put away?"

"Not exactly. And you wouldn't know the name. It was a private case. His wife hired me four years ago. She suspected him of cheating on her. I got her the evidence she needed so she could divorce him and get everything, including custody of their son."

"So this is about revenge. You took his son away from him, so he's taking yours."

"It's more than that," Shawn said, thinking of what exactly Fieldstone had told Juliet. "He said I have to confess that I'm not psychic. He wants to ruin me as completely as he thinks I ruined him. Which I obviously didn't. I got his wife the evidence that he was cheating on her, but it was her excellent lawyer and his crappy one that bled him dry."

"Apparently he doesn't agree with you on your innocence in all this," Lassiter said.

"Oh you think?" Shawn snapped. He was still kicking himself over how long it had taken him to figure it out.

"Why wait four years?" McNabb asked.

"When I say that the ex-Mrs. Fieldstone got everything," Shawn explained, "I mean _everything_. It's probably taken him four years just to raise the money to pull this off."

"Why were his prints on file?" Lassiter asked.

"He had a DUI when he was nineteen. He didn't agree with the officer about how much blood was in his alcohol system so he decided to argue his point with his fists. Fortunately for him he's a crappy fighter when he's drunk. The judge let him off easy since he didn't actually make contact and it was his first strike—not to mention he had a much better lawyer then. He did ninety days in lock up, two hundred hours community service, and had to go through rehab for his drinking problem. He's been clean since then, but he was an adult when it happened so he's still in the database. And he _knew_ that which is why he didn't bother to wear gloves. He wants me to know who he is."

"You know, Spencer, you sure have a way of pissing people off."

Shawn sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "Tell me about it."

o.o

They arrived at the warehouse and found it to be pretty much what Shawn had been expecting.

It wasn't the stereotypical abandoned dump, but it was older and not in the best condition. It was also as empty as a bum's wallet.

It was three stories tall and had very few windows, most of them were small and filthy. On the ground floor a central hallway ran the length of the building and on either side were a series of five rooms, each with two doors that swung back from the middle to allow a double wide entrance when they were both open.

"Are you so sure he's here?" Lassiter asked as he led the way in, sweeping each room with his gun as he entered it. Shawn was unarmed so he stayed in the middle with McNabb bringing up the rear and keeping an eye out for anyone coming up behind them.

"He's here," Shawn said. "The question is whether or not Jaime is. I'm actually going for not."

Lassiter glanced back before moving forward into the next room. "What makes you say that?"

"Just a vibe."

They entered the middle room on the right and finally found a sign that someone had been here since the building was last occupied.

A TV sat on a table on the far side of the room. A remote sat next to it with a piece of paper tucked underneath it.

Shawn approached slowly and slid the paper out from under the controller.

"You say you're psychic, but you haven't turned the TV on yet," he read aloud.

Shawn arched an eyebrow and glanced at the two cops with him.

"Okay then."

He picked up the remote and pressed the power button as Lassiter yelled, "NO!" and leapt forward reaching for the remote.

"Holy crap, Lassiter, what was that?" Shawn demanded.

"That could have been a BOMB, you idiot!" Lassiter responded in the same tone.

Shawn snorted. "Not likely. Besides the fact that Fieldstone was an _advertising executive_ and therefore doesn't know anything more about making bombs than what he saw on _McGuyver_, why would he bring me here and blow me up right away? He wouldn't. He's been waiting four years for this and he put a lot of effort into it. If he just wanted me dead he could have used his 'extensive bomb-making skills' to blow up my minivan." He might have overdone the sarcasm just a bit, but he wasn't about to take it back.

Lassiter couldn't deny that it was a valid point, but neither did he have to admit it aloud.

"So now what does he want?" he asked instead.

"_It's very simple,_" a voice said from the TV.

They both looked up, then immediately looked back down at the screen. A middle aged man with longish dirty blond hair and a short beard that was dressed in a black polo shirt and khakis was sitting on a table in a room that appeared to be quite similar to the one they were in.

"Fieldstone," Shawn grimly confirmed. "Where's Jaime?"

"_Oh he's fine,_" the other man assured them. "_Would you like to see him?_"

"Well, _duh_," Shawn replied with a roll of his eyes.

Fieldstone gave a crooked smile, then pressed a button on the remote he had in his own hand.

The picture changed to a third blank room. Jaime sat in the corner curled up with his arms wrapped around his knees which were pulled up so he could rest his chin on them.

"I have been known, on very rare occasions, to be wrong," Shawn admitted quietly when he realized that either Jaime was indeed here in the building or Fieldstone had gone to the trouble to make it look like he was. Shawn was betting on the former.

While they watched, Jaime wiped an arm across his face and sniffed, though it seemed he smeared the tears and snot more than wiping them away.

"Jaime?" Shawn said.

"_He can't hear you,_" Fieldstone said and the picture changed back abruptly. "_But he could if you'd just do as I asked and end this. Admit you're not psychic and I'll tell you where Jaime is. You can go home and get back to your life._" He chuckled. "_Well, what's left of your life._

"_Oh and if you're thinking of just leaving and searching this building for your son, I'd advise you to think twice. McGuyver isn't a very reliable source of information when it comes to building bombs, but the internet is a fabulous resource. You know I never believed all those news reports that said how easy it was to find the directions online but really they're telling the truth. If you leave this room before I'm satisfied with your confession, then I'll set off the bomb and you'll never see your son—or wife—again. How do you think Juliet would feel about _that_, Shawn?_"

* * *

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	10. 9 When Reality TV Attacks

Chapter 9: When Reality TV Attacks

* * *

A knock sounded on the door just before the desk sergeant poked her head in the room.

"Chief? You're going to want to turn on the TV. Channel three."

Karen gave the officer an odd look but grabbed the remote for her TV and flipped it on, switching to channel three.

Juliet gasped and then, from her seat on the couch, pushed to her feet with Gus's assistance.

"Shawn?" she said and took a few steps closer.

Gus shadowed her and put an arm behind her back in case he needed to help support her. Henry was on her other side, a hand behind her elbow just in case, but she looked like she was doing well enough that she didn't need to be carried—for now.

Karen stood as well, but she pulled her eyes away from the screen where Shawn, Lassiter, and McNabb were visible to glance out of her office. TVs all over the station were on and officers and staff were crowded around them. She went and opened the door.

"Sanderson."

"Yeah, Chief?" the sergeant asked, pulling himself away from one of the TVs.

"Find out where that signal is coming from and how they're getting it in here," she ordered.

"Yes, Ma'am," the officer said and hurried away.

She shut the door and returned, though she went to stand next to Henry rather than return to her chair.

"_If you leave this room before I'm satisfied with your confession, then I'll set off the bomb and you'll never see your son—or your wife—again. How do you think Juliet would feel about that, Shawn?_"

Juliet put a hand over her mouth to stifle a half sob and Gus tightened his grip on her as they watched the drama unfold.

o.o

Shawn was staring at the screen, eyes narrowed, and Lassiter and McNabb were both watching him.

"Spencer?" Lassiter said after a few seconds.

"Huh?" Shawn looked at him. "What is it, Lassie?"

"Are you going to just stand there?"

"What do you expect me to do?"

"Well, normally I'd advise against this, but . . . you could give him what he wants."

Shawn snorted. "That would just make your day, wouldn't it, Lassie-face? Me admitting that you're right and I'm not psychic?"

Lassiter thought about mentioning that he already had proof, but decided against it. Now was certainly not the time.

"Look, it's just me and McNabb here. If you were to confess it would be our word against yours and I've been losing that battle for seven years now."

"_He's a smart man, Shawn,_" Fieldstone said. "_You should listen to him._"

"He _is_ a smart man," Shawn agreed. "But I haven't listened to him for seven years. Starting now would just be weird. Besides that he's wrong."

"Excuse me?" Lassiter said.

"_Do tell,_" Fieldstone encouraged, but from the grin on his face he already knew what Shawn was going to say.

"If I _were_ to confess that I'm not psychic—and I'm not saying that I am—it wouldn't be just Lassie and Buzz here who would hear it, would it?"

Fieldstone laughed outright. "_Bravo, Shawn,_" he said and clapped a few times. "_Tell me, how did you know?_"

"The spirits told me that you're a peeping tom," Shawn replied.

Fieldstone shook his head with a sigh.

"_Shawn, Shawn, Shawn,_" he said deprecatingly. "_Why do you persist in this? Jaime is very frightened you know. And Juliet? Well I'm sure she's beside herself with worry now that she knows her son is in danger of being blown up and her husband won't do anything about it. You don't want to upset her delicate state do you? That can't be healthy for the baby._"

"Listen, Fieldstone-" Shawn started.

"_No, you listen, Shawn,_" Fieldstone said, losing patience and betraying his instability. "_I've waited four years to hear you say this. It's very simple. All you have to do is admit you're not a psychic._"

"Just admit I'm not a psychic," Shawn repeated, then added sarcastically, "Nothing else?"

"_Well you'll need to provide proof. You could explain how you got the evidence that my ex-wife used to crucify me in court._"

"Oh my gosh, that's it. You don't even really care about the fact that she won, do you?" Shawn laughed harshly. "You just want to know how you screwed up."

"_Oh I care very much about the fact that she won,_" Fieldstone said quietly. "_She took my life away from me and you helped her. I do want to know how you did it, but I want all of your friends and coworkers to hear so they know how much of a fraud you are._"

Shawn snorted. "Yeah, I'd love to explain it, but really, I'm not sure I've got small enough words."

"Spencer!" Lassiter hissed. "Now is _not_ the time to mouth off." Shawn opened said mouth to reply, but Fieldstone cut him off.

"_I'm getting tired of waiting and if we stay here too much longer your police friends might just figure out how I'm doing this and find a way to stop me. Which is exactly what I'm sure you're hoping to accomplish with your stalling. So let's speed this up, shall we? You have exactly-_" He made a show of looking at his watch, then back at the camera. "_-three minutes to confess that you're not a psychic and explain how you got the evidence for my ex-wife. At the end of those three minutes I'll detonate the bomb and you and your son will die for your stubbornness._"

* * *

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	11. 10Jiminy Cricket Dead of Windex Overdose

Chapter 10: Jiminy Cricket Dead of Windex Overdose

* * *

Juliet had been frozen but now she was suddenly frenzied in her movements. She dug in her purse until she came up with her cell phone and punched the speed dial for Shawn's phone, praying he'd pick up quickly.

o.o

The chorus of LMNT's 'Juliet' suddenly filled the air and Shawn jumped in surprise, then dug his phone out of his pocket.

"Jules?" he said as soon as he'd punched the send button.

"_Shawn, just do it._" He stepped away and lowered his voice.

"Juliet-"

"_I know. But Jaime . . ._" She couldn't finish and Shawn couldn't blame her. He sighed and paced a few more steps, running a hand through his hair.

"I'll bring him home," he vowed. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I love you."

"_I love you, too,_" she whispered.

He lowered the phone and shut it, then replaced it in his pocket.

"I'm not a psychic."

Fieldstone smiled in triumph as Shawn turned back to face them.

"_That's part of it. Now how did you do it? How have you been fooling the cops all these years?_"

Shawn looked away from the TV and met Lassiter's gaze as he slowly came back to rejoin them before the TV.

"Do you remember that first day we met? In the interrogation room?"

"Yeah," Lassiter said slowly, not quite believing his ears.

"Do you remember what I told you? What my explanation was then?"

"You said you were extremely observant. You'd spotted tells that pointed to the manager's guilt while watching the news. But, Spencer-"

"I have a photographic memory and a very keen eye for details," Shawn said quietly. "My father has been training me to notice things like that since I was old enough to form coherent sentences. Probably before that, actually."

"I didn't buy that then," Lassiter challenged. "What makes you think I'll buy it now?"

Now that the moment of truth had come Lassiter was desperate to avoid it. There had to be another way. One that wouldn't end up with Shawn in prison or all of them dead.

"Well," Shawn said with a self-deprecating smile, "let's review the other things I told you that day. Shall we?"

Lassiter wanted to say no. The childish urge to plug his ears and start singing loudly rose up, but the look in Shawn's eyes knocked it back down.

He knew exactly what he was doing. And he was okay with it.

How had Lassiter underestimated Shawn that _much_ all these years?

"Okay," Lassiter said and—because morbid curiosity drove him to it—thought back. "You mentioned Officer Allen's grandmother and her belief in psychics."

"She's actually where I got the idea. She had crystals, a dream catcher, and other psychic paraphernalia on her desk, more on her necklace and earrings, and I overheard her conversation on the phone in which she mentioned said dead grandmother and was talking about visiting palm readers."

Lassiter jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "McNabb's wedding."

"I saw him at the copier practicing his dance steps and counting out loud. A guy like him learning the waltz? Wedding seemed most likely." He looked to Buzz. "No offense."

Buzz shook his head in dismissal, more concerned with what Shawn was revealing.

"The shards of taillight?" Lassiter asked, his voice growing faint with disbelief.

"They were originally on his sleeve. I actually told him to brush them away. He did, but when they went into his boot and he didn't even notice I figured it wasn't worth the trouble and let it go. Fortunate for me because then I had the evidence I needed to make you believe I was psychic—or at least to wonder if I was."

Lassiter's eyes narrowed and his voice strengthened. "How did you know Detective Barry and I were dating?"

"I saw the reflection in the two-way mirror of you playing with her hair as you walked behind her. It was a guess but there was a better than even chance it was right. Obviously."

Lassiter just stared at Shawn as it began to sink in that he was telling the truth.

Not only had Shawn Spencer just admitted he wasn't psychic, but he'd admitted that he'd _told them that from the start._ And Lassiter hadn't believed him.

His jaw dropped slightly as he tried to think of what to say and Shawn raised his eyebrows, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and shrugged. There wasn't really anything else to say.

"_Now, Shawn, don't you feel better? Confession is_ such _a weight off your chest . . . Don't you agree, Detective?_"

Lassiter finally tore his gaze from Shawn and blinked at the screen.

"What?"

"_You know, Shawn, you're right not to listen to him. He may be smart, but he's not very trustworthy._"

Shawn snorted. "I trust him a lot more than I trust you, Larry."

"_You shouldn't. After all, he's the reason we're here right now._"

Lassiter swallowed.

Oh crap.

"Uh, nooooo," Shawn said in a voice that suggested Fieldstone wasn't the brightest star in the sky. "That would be _your_ fault. Remember? You hate me because you screwed up and I proved it. Any of this ringing a bell?"

"_I orchestrated all of this, yes. But I wouldn't have if Detective Lassiter had done his job like he was supposed to. It wasn't supposed to come to this. I don't know if it was cowardice or sentimentality . . . but either way the result is the same. I suspect cowardice since he obviously didn't tell you._"

Shawn frowned and tossed a thumb at the TV as he turned to look at Lassiter.

"You have any idea what he's talking . . . about . . ." He trailed off at the somewhat panicked look in Lassiter's eyes.

"Lassie?" Shawn asked. He looked at Fieldstone, then back to Lassiter and found that the panic was gone, replaced by fury.

He almost thought he might have imagined it.

"_Go ahead, Detective,_" Fieldstone encouraged with a grin, obviously enjoying this. "_Tell him about the DVD I sent you._"

Lassiter scowled at the TV.

"Don't try to pin this on me, Fieldstone. This was all your doing."

Fieldstone sighed. "_Well that clinches it. Definitely cowardice. You see, Shawn, what your 'friend' here isn't telling you is that he's known for several weeks now that you're not a psychic. He has proof of it. Video footage of you planning a 'vision' with your co-conspirator Mr. Guster that I gave him. I expected him to take that and go to Chief Vick with it._

"_Not that it would have changed _your_ fate,_" he added thoughtfully. "_But I would never have had to kidnap Jaime to use as leverage to force you into confession. His inactivity left me no choice but to do something that couldn't be ignored._"

Shawn just stared at Lassiter as the pieces finally began to come together.

//"_You know the only time I tense up like this is when I have to deal with interference by a_ fake _psychic._"

//"_Don't worry about the case. Let an_ actual _detective do that._"

//"_Until then I'm going to leave you to practice your next vision and go do some real detective work._"//

Lassiter had known. For the last . . . wait . . . _weeks_?

"That's it," Shawn said softly, his gaze flicking back and forth as though reading something—or connecting the dots. "That's what's been bugging you. I thought it was just PMS-"

"Excuse me?" Lassiter demanded.

"But now it all makes sense. The mood swings, the little jabs at my abilities . . ." He looked up. "But why? Why did you have to think about it? It's what you've wanted for seven years and yet . . . It was eating you alive, the indecision."

His eyes narrowed.

"But what was there to think about?"

Lassiter didn't have an answer. Not one that he'd say out loud without more duress than he was currently under.

But he didn't need to. Now that Shawn had the pieces, the puzzle was quickly coming together.

A slow smile spread across his face.

"You like me."

"Spencer, I think of you like a swollen appendix. When you're gone you'll take a lot of pain and suffering with you."

The grin grew. Obviously Shawn saw right through _that_.

"You _do_ like me! I think we have to hug now."

He started to take a step forward, arms open wide, but Lassiter put a hand up and stepped back.

"Spencer!" he barked and pointed at the TV. "Focus."

"Right," Shawn said, sobering. "We'll finish this later," he added with a ghost of a smile and a twinkle in his eye.

Lassiter resisted the urge to snort. That was rather optimistic considering where Shawn was likely headed after this.

"_This is all very fascinating,_" Fieldstone said, "_but I'm more interested in how you helped my ex-wife._"

Shawn looked at the TV and shrugged. "Your girlfriend bragged to her friends about her married lover. Might not have been so bad if she hadn't done it at a bar that was frequented by two of the guys who worked in the mail room. Also she had a journal that detailed several of your dates and her plans for your money after she'd convinced you to get rid of your wife. Her plans might have worked if I hadn't seen her writing in it and then putting it in her desk drawer at the office. I simply told your wife where to find it and gave her the names of the mail guys. But the fact that you had a lawyer who rolled over like a kayak with a narcoleptic fat guy isn't my fault."

Shawn glanced at Lassiter and said, "For what it's worth, Lassie, when I first told you I was a psychic . . . I never thought it would go this far."

Lassiter blinked in surprise. He actually believed that.

"_It wasn't me?_" Fieldstone sound like he was in as much shock as Lassiter had been. That drew Shawn's attention.

"What?"

"_It wasn't me._" He looked straight at the camera. "_It's nothing I did wrong. It was all Shelia's fault._"

"Well you _did_ cheat on your wife." Then Shawn frowned. "Wait, you didn't know?"

"_No, I . . . I never knew the details of the evidence. But I'd spent all of my money on that . . ._ idiot _Mercer. I couldn't afford another lawyer and he told me that there was nothing I could do . . . that the evidence was incontrovertible. He_ lied _to me._"

Shawn jerked his head back. "Wow. You really got shafted on that deal. Seriously that's . . . pathetic."

Fieldstone's gaze had dropped and he contemplated what he'd learned in silence.

Shawn, however, hadn't forgotten that somewhere in this building was his son—and somewhere close to his son was a bomb. "Hey, Larry?" That didn't work so he tried snapping. "Larry! Lawrence Fieldstone! HEY!"

That got the other man's attention.

"_What?_" he asked dully.

"So, now that I've answered all your questions . . . do you think maybe you could let us go? And also maybe tell me where my son is? If you're not too busy wallowing in self-pity there. That'd be . . ." He trailed off. "Larry? LARRY?"

The only response was for Fieldstone to point the remote at the TV . . . and turn the camera off.

"What does that mean?" McNabb asked after a moment.

"It means we need to go," Shawn said.

"But-"

"Now!" he added, turning and pushing the two detectives towards the door.

It took a moment but they caught on and started running back the way they'd came.

Shawn passed them and led the way to a stairwell in the corner of the warehouse. Arriving on the second floor they found it was laid out exactly like the first which made searching it a lot easier.

"Jaime!" Shawn yelled and ran from door to door, throwing them open and glancing inside. As soon as he saw it was empty he moved on.

McNabb echoed the shouts and took the other side of the hall.

Lassiter only followed them down the hall a few feet, then backtracked and hurried up the stairs. They were running out of time—if it wasn't already up. He kept expecting for the world to erupt in chaos and the stray thought of how much it would hurt to die in an explosion flitted through his head but he shoved it down and kept going.

They weren't leaving without Jaime.

He was halfway through this floor when Shawn and McNabb joined him. It took only another minute or two to finish checking the rooms.

They were all empty except for the last two which were locked from the inside.

Shawn rattled the handles uselessly on one and kicked the door.

"Come on! You've got be kidding me! Jaime!" he yelled and pounded on the door.

Lassiter looked around for something they could use to get the doors open. He'd considered shooting them but they were steel and therefore not exactly a good thing to be shooting at.

It was McNabb who found the solution. There was an axe in a fire response station in the stairwell. Lassiter thought he was insane at first, but instead of trying to hack his way through he dropped to his knees by the hinges of the closer door.

"Buzz! You're a genius!" Shawn cheered and dropped down next to him. It took a little work to get the blade in between the pin and the hinges and then it took both Shawn and McNabb to work the pin up and free of its rusty prison.

They stood and repositioned for the upper hinge, then began pushing again. Both were red faced from the effort and Lassiter went over and added what little help he could.

"Come on!" Shawn forced out through gritted teeth. "Come ON!"

It finally popped free with a tortured shriek and landed a few feet away with a clatter, but none of them noticed. Buzz shifted his grip on the ax and chopped downward, using every bit of force he could to get the blade between the door and the wall.

Wiggling the ax back and forth until Lassiter and Shawn could get their fingers in enough to help pulling, they eventually pulled it away from the frame enough that gravity took over. It tilted and then swung towards them, pulling the other door along and forcing them to jump back so they weren't hit by it.

But Jaime wasn't behind door number one.

Fieldstone was, standing in the center of a room with enough electronics equipment to account for the video surveillance and transmission as well as a white plastic drum filled to the top with something dark with wires attaching it to a digital display that sat on top.

The time was now seven minutes and twenty-three seconds.

Fieldstone didn't even glance over as he raised the gun in his hand and prepared to put the barrel in his mouth.

"No!"

The shout came at the same time that Shawn and McNabb jumped forward to grab him.

Lassiter got there first though and he was faster than any of them had accounted for.

In seconds the gun was twisted out of his hand and Fieldstone had been slammed back onto the table, his head bouncing off the metal in a way that had to have been quite painful, Lassiter's hands gripping his shirt in white-knuckled fists.

When he spoke his voice was a lethal hiss that neither Shawn nor Buzz would have guessed him capable of. "Where's Jaime?" he snarled, then added a colorful curse—just in case his opponent doubted his sincerity.

Fieldstone's eyes were wide and his throat worked convulsively. "A-across the hall."

"Keys?"

Fieldstone lifted a shaking hand and pointed to where a keyring sat on top of one of the pieces of equipment.

"McNabb," Lassiter snapped and Buzz nodded and grabbed them, then left to find which one on the ring would open the other door.

"How do we disarm the bomb?" he asked next.

"I don't know."

Lassiter jerked him up and then slammed him back down, eliciting another head bounce and a groan.

"Lassie!"

"Spencer-" Lassiter started without looking away.

"He doesn't know. Plans to build a bomb don't necessarily tell how to disarm it," Shawn said, overriding the protest. "And he had no intention of doing so," he added quietly.

Lassiter considered that for half a second and then straightened, pulling Fieldstone up with him.

He let go with one hand, but only so he could pull it back and give it some good momentum when he buried it in Fieldstone's gut.

Then he let go with the other so Fieldstone could crumple to the ground, gasping for breath and holding his midsection.

"You're under arrest for the kidnapping of Jaime Spencer," he said with disgust. "And that's only the tip of the iceberg. I'm going to have fun writing up your charge sheet."

Shawn's head snapped around at the sound of a door being opened and he left Lassiter to deal with Fieldstone while he ran to find Jaime.

It took an eternity to cross that hall. Buzz was visible in the other room, crouched down and gesturing to the corner to the right of the door. "It's okay, Jaime," he said softly.

"Jaime?" Shawn called.

"Dad?" a soft whisper came and Shawn's step faltered from the relief.

"Jaime! Buddy, where are you?" He entered the room then and almost ran into Buzz, though he was completely unaware of that fact.

All he could see was his son, tears on his face as he stood up, his eyes locked on Shawn.

"Dad?" he repeated. "I wanna go home."

"Oh me too, Jaime. Come here."

Jaime quickly ran over and Shawn dropped to one knee and scooped him up in a crushing bear hug, several tears falling into his son's hair. Jaime heartily returned it, doing his best to strangle his father in his relief.

"Spencer," Lassiter said after giving them a few precious seconds. "We need to go. Now." He was in the center of the hallway, a handcuffed Fieldstone at his side, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Just leave me," he plead.

"You're not getting out of this that easily," Lassiter growled.

Shawn stood, retaining his tight grip on Jaime—not that it was necessary the way Jaime was clinging to him. He rearranged Jaime for a more comfortable hold, then they headed for the stairs intent on getting away from this place as fast as humanly possible.

"How much time do we have?" Shawn asked.

"Not nearly enough," Lassiter replied.

o.o

"Juliet, you have to stay calm," Gus admonished her. He and Henry were kneeling on either side of her in Karen's office while they waited for the ambulance to arrive.

She'd been fine enough right up to the point where there had been a brief flash of orange and the signal went dead.

Then her knees had given out and only the two men flanking her kept her from going down hard.

Shawn and Lassiter and McNabb had all left the room by that point, but seeing evidence that the building had blown up with no way of knowing if they'd gotten out in time had been a bit of a shock to her.

None of them were answering their phones now—in fact, all three were going straight to voice mail indicating that the phone itself no longer had power.

Whether that was because of dead batteries or because the phone—and the person carrying it—was no longer in existence was uncertain.

All of which had led to the current situation where Juliet had gone into the first stages of shock—and shortly thereafter labor.

First aid had helped with the shock but there wasn't much to be done for the labor except to get her to a hospital.

And since Karen was out trying to ascertain what had happened and if there were any survivors, that left Gus and Henry to stay with Juliet.

"Breathe, Juliet. In," he said and put action to words, "and out."

"I can't lose them both," she said as she gripped Henry's hand and ignored Gus's advice. "They can't both be gone."

"They're not," Henry told her sternly. "Shawn's not nearly that easy to get rid of. You know that. They got out in plenty of time."

"They had to find Jaime-" She was cut off with a scream as a contraction hit and Gus started frantically breathing Lamaze style, trying to get her to follow his rhythm. It passed eventually and she let her head fall back onto his balled up suit jacket, the tears running down the sides of her face.

"I can't lose them both," she repeated in a broken whisper.

Gus looked at Henry but neither had an answer for that beyond what had been said already so the former just kept breathing in time for her and the latter squeezed her hand.

Fortunately the paramedics showed up then and there was no room to get the words in.

Orders were called and vitals were taken and an IV was hooked up as they prepared to move her onto the gurney. She kept her hold on Henry throughout and he followed her out to the ambulance while Gus watched them go.

When the EMTs tried to tell him he couldn't come with her in the ambulance she aimed a punch at one of them. He managed to dodge it but it drew the attention of those around them and Karen came over.

When they EMT explained what happened Karen had shut him down and said simply that Henry was to stay with Juliet and anyone who had a problem with that needed to speak up now.

They loaded her up without further incident and the doors were slammed shut and the ambulance left amidst the flashing of lights and the screaming of sirens.

Karen watched it go and said a silent prayer, then turned back and dove into the chaos that was the police station. Henry would take care of Mrs. Spencer and the younger child. She had to find Mr. Spencer and the older child.

"Mr. Guster, you're with me."

* * *

There are only three more chapters to go. :(

But suppose it's time to stop this emotional whump-fest so that's okay. And there are more stories to come, both in and out of this little AU-ish thing I've created.

So be kind and leave a review! :D


	12. 11 New Beginnings

Chapter 11: New Beginnings

ALMOST DONE! AUGHHH!

:cries:

Well anyway, have fun with this one. I liked it. :D

* * *

They made it down the stairs in record time.

Shawn's lungs were on fire and his legs were burning from the workout he'd put them through in the last few minutes but he couldn't stop yet. He had to get away from the building. Far, far away from the building.

Putting on a burst of speed, he passed Lassiter and McNabb who were both dragging Fieldstone along and went through the door first, running bent for leather into the open parking lot ahead of him.

Not thirty seconds after clearing the door the bomb went off, engulfing the whole building and knocking the five of them down with a wall of heat and pressure.

Shawn managed to roll so he wouldn't crush Jaime, then kept it going so he stopped over his son, shielding him from any debris or shrapnel that was headed their way.

A few hot embers hit him and he winced at each, but their momentum had them bouncing away before they could catch his shirt on fire.

When the deadly rain stopped and it seemed the worst of it was over, he cautiously lifted his head and looked around.

Lassiter was off to his right, pushing himself up onto his knees and coughing from the thick smoke that was rolling over them now. Fieldstone lay on his side nearby, coughing but otherwise just laying there, despair etched into his features. Buzz was to Shawn's left and he too was getting up, though he looked a little dazed. All three of them were covered in cuts and scrapes and burns.

Last Shawn looked down at Jaime, a litany of prayers going through his head.

His son was curled up in a ball, his head tucked down under his arms and his knees pulled up tight. Miraculously he didn't appear to have anything worse than a scrape or two, though Shawn was sure he'd have bruises. They just hadn't shown up yet.

"Jaime?" he said and then coughed.

It took shaking his shoulder, but finally Jaime relaxed enough to raise his head and lower his arms.

"Dad?"

"How're you feeling? Anything hurt?"

Jaime nodded and uncurled further, sitting up with Shawn's help. He pointed out a list of bumps and scrapes and Shawn noted them all, but it seemed his first assessment was correct and the injuries were superficial.

So Jaime was treated to another bear hug. He didn't complain.

Lassiter appeared then, putting a hand on Shawn's shoulder.

"You two okay?" he asked.

Shawn nodded and Lassiter left him to rock his crying son while he went to check on McNabb. The junior detective had dropped back down to the ground and from the looks of it he'd managed to knock his head on the ground when he went flying and now had a concussion.

Lassiter figured emergency crews were already on the way but just in case they needed help locating them he pulled out his cell phone—and found it was broken, most likely crushed when he'd landed after the blast.

A quick survey showed that both McNabb's and Shawn's cell phones had suffered similar fates.

He debated going in search of his car and the police scanner inside it, but then recalled it had been parked close to the building on the other side where they'd entered. Based on how far out the flames had come on this side his car was so much melted slag now.

A real shame. He'd liked that car.

With nothing else to do for the moment he sat down between Shawn and Fieldstone and put his head in his hands and hoped that when the paramedics came they had the good drugs with them.

His head was killing him.

o.o

Juliet was prepped and transferred and all set to deliver her baby—except for one small problem.

Shawn wasn't there.

Gus—who was now regretting agreeing to switch places with Henry—was trying to tell her that Karen was looking into it herself and would let them know as soon as there was news, but that wasn't good enough for Juliet.

She was not bringing this child into the world until she knew where his or her father and older brother were.

Gus was pretty sure he was going to have to learn to use his other hand to write from the amount of pressure Juliet was putting into squeezing it. Then again if she kept screaming like that he was going to have the bigger problem of trying to do sign language with only one functional hand.

Just when he was sure his body was going to pass out as a means of self preservation, the doors to the delivery room burst open and Shawn entered, filthy, covered in scrapes and cuts and blood, but alive nonetheless.

"Jules! You weren't going to wait for me?"

"Shawn?" she said. He went to her side and helped Gus pry his hand free. As soon as the last finger was uncurled Gus bolted for the door.

"Shawn, is that really you?" she asked.

"In the flesh," he said with a grin.

She whipped her other hand across her body and before Shawn knew what was happening he was on the floor staring at the ceiling with blood pouring from his nose.

A nurse helped him up and handed him some gauze for the blood.

He looked at Juliet as he tried to comprehend what had just happened, but didn't get any closer.

"Whad wad thad for?" he demanded as he pinched his nose and worked his jaw to see if she'd broken anything.

"I thought you were _dead_!" she screamed. Any further complaints were cut off by another contraction, her attention focused on breathing as the nurse informed her that she was dilated to nine centimeters.

"One more and we'll be ready to push!" she said cheerily. Juliet leveled a death glare at her but she ignored it and went about her work getting ready to welcome the new little one into the world.

"I'm dorry," he apologized.

"Jaime?" she asked as the pain subsided once more. She glanced down in surprise when she realized that another nurse was inspecting her hand. She'd split some skin but nothing too serious. A few butterfly bandages and some antiseptic and she was given her hand back and told that she wouldn't need stitches—but if she did that again it might change.

"He'd okay. My dad id with him." He gave her a wary look, then said, "If I come cloder will you putch me again?"

"No. I'm sorr-ahhhh!"

The next contraction hit and he jumped over to her side, taking her uninjured hand and lacing his fingers with hers. He gave his nose one last swipe then dropped the gauze pad to the floor.

"You're doing great," he said. She panted and hissed and tried not to think about the pain.

"Shawn, I love you," she gritted out.

"I love you too, Jules." He kissed her forehead.

"But if you ever make me do this again without drugs I'm going to kill you."

He laughed and she shook her head.

"I wasn't joking."

He just chuckled and kissed her forehead again.

"Okay we're there!" the chipper nurse said brightly. "Ready to push?"

"I'VE BEEN READY!" Juliet shot back.

"And _push_!"

Juliet's back arched off the bed as she did her best to push. Shawn maintained his grip on her hand and ignored the tingling from blood loss. The feeling would return eventually.

"Push!" the nurse ordered.

"I'm pushing!" she snarled.

"Just a little more, Jules," Shawn said soothingly. "Almost there."

"Not close enough," she whimpered but it turned into a cry of pain.

"PUSH!" the nurse said once more and Juliet gave it everything she had, her scream making Shawn's ears ring.

Then suddenly the pressure was gone and Juliet went limp on the bed and a moment of eternal silence filled the room.

It was broken by the sound of a baby's furious wail at the rude entrance to the world.

"It's a girl!" the nurse said and Shawn couldn't help the strained laugh that bubbled out.

"A girl?" he repeated dumbly. "Jules! It's a girl!"

She smiled weakly. "I heard."

He kissed her full on the mouth and she returned it as much as she was able, then he pulled back so they could both breathe.

"Dad, you want to help over here?" the nurse that had taken the newest Spencer asked.

"Oh. Yeah. Sure!" he said and gave Juliet's hand one last squeeze before hurrying off to help bathe, weigh, measure, and dress his daughter. That actually mostly consisted of him watching as the nurse did everything, but she did hand him the little pink beanie and step aside.

"Hi there," he said as he carefully tugged it down over her head. A soft sheen of dark hair disappeared under the pink knit fabric and then the nurse helped him wrap her up in the blanket she was lying on and pick her up.

He carefully cradled her as he returned to Juliet's side. She had finished off the necessary after birth process and now the nurse was raising the head of the bed so she would be more comfortable as she fed her daughter for the first time.

Shawn carefully handed her over, then watched with the kind of joy that only came from such a special moment.

"What were our choices for girl names?" Juliet asked as she traced the little ear with a gentle fingertip.

"Um . . . Haylie . . . Anna . . . Eve . . . and Garth."

Juliet smacked him on the arm. "We did not discuss 'Garth' as a girl's name. We didn't even discuss it as a boy's name."

"We could have," he said but she just shook her head and smiled down at her daughter.

"I think she looks like an Anna," Juliet decided.

"Anna Banana Spencer?" he said and she rolled her eyes.

"What?" he demanded.

"We are not giving her the middle name of 'Banana'." Then she said thoughtfully, "Anna Eve Spencer. That has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. Anna Eve Spencer," he said seriously and brushed a knuckle down her cheek. "I like it."

"Well then," Juliet pronounced, "Anna Eve Spencer you shall be."

* * *

YAYZ! BABIES! BLOOD! SHAWN GOT WHUMPED MORE! WOOT!

:D

Review, please and thanks.


	13. 12 Surprise Endings

Chapter 12: Surprise Endings

* * *

In the rush of finding Jaime and surviving the bomb and having a baby—okay that was mostly Juliet, but it was still very distracting—Shawn forgot all about the fact that he'd confessed to defrauding the Santa Barbara Police Department for seven years.

But as he stared down at his daughter sleeping in her clear bassinet in the nursery he remembered it quite clearly.

And he was worried.

Would he get to see any of the significant events in her life? How long could he go to prison for this exactly? What was Juliet going to do? How was she supposed to raise two kids and hold down a job as a cop?

He didn't know the answers to any of those questions, but it was time to find out. Time to face the music. He'd done the crime and now he had to do the time.

What other clichés about time could he think up to delay actually going and finding the chief?

None, he decided. He kissed his fingertips and pressed it to the window, then mouthed a last 'I love you'.

Squaring his shoulders he turned and headed out.

o.o

"Chief, I can explain what happened."

Three sets of eyes shifted as Juliet paused in her recounting of Shawn's arrival in the delivery room. Karen arched an eyebrow when she saw her head detective, Carlton Lassiter, standing in the doorway looking like something the cat wouldn't dare drag in.

"Carlton!" Juliet said in alarm.

Henry was holding Jaime—who'd thankfully fallen asleep—and so didn't say anything, though he'd already seen Lassiter downstairs so the other man's appearance wasn't a shock.

"Have you been seen by medical personnel?" Karen asked, taking in the torn and sooty clothing, the bruises and not-yet-scabbed-over scrapes.

"I'm fine," he said and waved a hand in dismissal.

"What about your partner?"

That threw him. "What?" he asked and looked at Juliet.

Karen smiled. "Your _other_ partner, Carlton. McNabb? Obviously I've already heard about Juliet."

"Oh. Right." He shook himself and tried to focus. "Cuts, scrapes, bruises, and a mild concussion. He's being kept overnight for observation but they're not worried. I can explain what happened."

"You said that already," she pointed out and shifted for a more comfortable position in her seat. "What exactly can you explain?"

"I understand that there was a closed circuit broadcast to the station of what happened in that warehouse."

Ah. So that's what this was about.

She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them for a moment. She'd expected more time to prepare, given the reports from the scene.

"Detective-"

"It's not his fault."

That threw her completely off track with its unexpectedness and she blinked in surprise. Juliet's eyebrows went up and she glanced at Henry but he was staring at Lassiter with an intent expression on his face.

"Excuse me?" Karen said after a moment to gather her wits.

"Spencer." His eyes flicked to Juliet and clarified, "Shawn. It's not his fault. He told me way back when this all started and I didn't believe him. I _forced_ him into this situation. So if anyone deserves to be punished, it's me."

He assumed a position somewhere between attention and at ease, his hands behind his back, his chin up and his eyes focused on a spot behind her head, and waited for her to pronounce judgment.

"Carlton . . . no one is going to be punished."

"Excuse me?" he said, his eyes dropping and his brows drawing down. "Why not?"

Now Henry met Juliet's gaze when she glanced at him. He was smiling slightly and he gave her a little nod which only confused her more. What did that mean?

"That's what I'd like to know," another voice chimed in from the doorway.

"Ah, Mr. Spencer. Good to see you. Congratulations."

"Thank you," he said cautiously and entered when she waved for him to do so.

"An exciting day for you," she said.

"Very. Speaking of which . . . You _were_ talking about me, right?"

Karen chuckled and gestured to the chairs in the room for visitors. "Have a seat, both of you. Please shut the door, Mr. Spencer."

They did as she said, exchanging wary looks. Shawn looked to Juliet who shrugged. She had no idea what was going on.

"Mr. Spencer, Detective Lassiter came here to tell me that he believes _he_ is at fault for the last seven years since he didn't believe you when you told him the truth. Do you agree?"

Shawn gaped at Lassiter for a good long minute. "He said that?"

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "In a moment of poor judgment something along those lines might have slipped out," he grudgingly admitted.

Karen arched an eyebrow. "So you didn't mean that? You said you thought that you deserved punishment instead of Shawn. Are you saying that's not what you meant? You believe Shawn is responsible and deserves punishment?"

"Well," Lassiter said and shifted in his seat, "I mean . . . I think that . . ." Shawn's grin grew with every fidget and pause and finally Lassiter gave up and glared. "Oh stop that. I said you weren't at fault. I _didn't_ say I liked you. And I still don't believe you're psychic. In fact I know it now."

Shawn's smile didn't waver in the slightest.

Instead he popped up and all but bounced over to the other chair and swarmed the detective with a hug.

"Spencer! Get off of me!"

"Dude, I owed you that from before. I told you we'd finish this later. And I _so_ knew you liked me. I even have witnesses!"

"I just said I DON'T like you!" He managed to push Shawn away but the grin was still there.

"Wait . . ." he said in sudden dread when Shawn's last statement penetrated his annoyance. "Witnesses?"

Shawn nodded so hard and fast Lassiter swore he heard something rattling.

"Yep! There's no use denying it now! The whooooole department knows you were trying to protect me from being exposed! And," he added, "technically, what you said a few moments ago was 'I _didn't_ say I liked you.' But you were thinking it!"

He moved in for another hug and Lassiter jumped up—and then winced when it aggravated his injuries.

"Come near me again and I'll shoot you, I swear I will."

"Both of you sit down," Karen ordered, reminding them they weren't alone in the room.

They did so, Shawn grinning and leaning over the side of his chair, one arm propping up his chin as he stared at Lassiter. Carlton was scowling and when he saw Shawn he leaned further away.

"Would you _stop_ that!"

"Mr. Spencer," Karen said pointedly, drawing his attention her way.

"Yes?"

A knock on the door right then interrupted her again and she rolled her eyes. "What?" she called, her tone just a bit snappish.

Gus poked his head in.

"Sorry. Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all, Mr. Guster," Karen reassured him. "Please come in. This concerns you too."

Gus nodded and entered. He shut the door behind himself, then came forward to stand behind Shawn's chair and to the right just a little.

"As I was saying, the reason you are not going to be charged, Mr. Spencer, is because I've known the entire time that you weren't a psychic. Therefore, it could be argued that you weren't _actually_ deceiving me."

Around the room jaws hit the floor as everyone but Henry stared at her in shock.

"You _knew_?" Shawn finally demanded and leaned forward.

Karen nodded. "I've known what you could do since I was your father's partner almost twenty-five years ago."

"Oh this is so not fair. Chief, why didn't you say something? You lied to _me_!"

Her eyebrows went up and he sat back in the chair. "But then you are the chief so you get to do things like that."

She held the look for a moment longer, then turned when Carlton spoke up.

"I hate to say it since it means I'm agreeing with Spencer, but . . . why _didn't_ you say anything?"

"Because it was simpler. Because it gave me an excuse to keep Shawn around and out of trouble. Out of more trouble," she amended when she was bombarded by incredulous looks. "He's been an asset, a valuable one, and it was the only way to utilize him since he absolutely refused to attend the academy and do things the easy way."

"Wow," Shawn said after a moment to absorb that. "So, I have to ask . . . what does this mean now? I mean, everyone knows I'm not really a psychic-"

"Actually the broadcast was only inside the police station. So every cop on the force knows you're not a psychic. But no one outside those walls does. And they won't. I've put a gag order on the subject. Anyone caught divulging this piece of confidential information will be discussing their future as a police officer with me."

"You're serious?" Lassiter asked after a moment without a punchline.

"As a heart attack," Karen replied. "I believe Mr. Spencer is still an asset and I intend to continue using him." Shawn was grinning again so she continued. "_However_." The grin vanished and he gave her his full attention.

"He will limit his more energetic displays to those locations where there are persons present who are not privy to the true nature of his abilities. In the station when it's just department personnel he will spare us the dramatics and simply share his information. Is that clear?"

"As a freshly Windexed window," Shawn said.

"Good. Now, Mr. Guster?"

Gus was still recovering from the revelation that they'd been doing this for seven years and all along she'd _known_. All this time . . . all those visions . . .

"Gus," Shawn hissed and elbowed his friend.

"What?" he said and blinked. "Oh. Right.

"Fieldstone confessed to everything. We knew he did it, of course, but most of the physical evidence was in the warehouse and beyond recovery. Sanderson and Dobson are working on the paper trails to see what else they can come up with."

"Thank you," Karen said and stood. Lassiter followed her cue and jumped up, hoping to escape before there was another attempted hugging.

"Now that we've got all of that business behind us . . ."

"Actually, Chief," Shawn interrupted, "there is one more thing."

"Sweet merciful justice, what?" Lassiter demanded.

"The jewel thefts. It was the courier."

It took everyone a second to realize what he was talking about.

"The courier?" Juliet repeated, her brow furrowing as she tried to think of who that was. Suddenly a memory of a midnight revelation surfaced. "Pizza is the key!"

"_Exactly_!" Shawn said with a huge grin.

But no one else seemed to get it.

"What does pizza have to do with anything?" Lassiter demanded.

"The courier. The brunette with the dimples that worked for the courier service that just _happens_ to be the preferred delivery service for all of the stores and the museum? Sarah Jamison is her name. Or at least her _legal_ one. She may have used an alias or two. She's like a pizza delivery guy. No one suspects anything because they expect her to be there."

"How did she get into the private homes?" Lassiter asked, though he wasn't dismissing it out of hand. She had been one of those that was higher on the list because she had access to more of the locations than most but they hadn't been able to connect her to the three private residence robberies. "And why didn't they mention her?"

"Because none of them wanted to get in trouble," Shawn answered.

"Why would they get in trouble?" Karen asked, intrigued. Even knowing how he did it she was often impressed by his contributions to their cases.

"Because she wasn't supposed to be there."

That didn't clear it up for anyone so he explained further.

"She was sleeping with someone in each house, someone who was not supposed to be entertaining visitors for secret trysts."

"Pierre Bristow isn't interested in women," Lassiter pointed out.

"Or so he wants everyone to believe," Shawn countered. "How embarrassing would it be for your 'life partner' to know that you weren't as committed to the lifestyle as they thought? Or, in the case of Jesse Wardlaw, for your mother to find out that you'd brought your girlfriend into the house and left her alone in the vault with all the _thousands of dollars_ worth of jewelry?"

"Thomas and Marilyn Regan?" Lassiter asked, naming the victims in the third house.

"They were high-school sweethearts and have been happily married for forty-seven years. Sarah—or, as Thomas knew her, Brina—was a moment of weakness. One he never gave into again after that first mistake."

"How was there no evidence?" Juliet asked.

"Because they were all meticulous in cleaning up after their rendezvous and none of the thefts were reported until they were noticed a few days after the fact. None of them even suspected their visitor might be involved—and if they did they certainly weren't going to mention it in an official report that might be read by someone who wasn't supposed to know about their dirty little secret."

"Mr. Spencer, how sure are you of this information?" Karen asked.

"As sure as I can be, Chief, without having heard her confess. But if you need more proof, guess who is scheduled to be on a flight leaving for San Diego this evening?"

"Why San Diego?" Gus asked. "It's not very far away."

"No," Shawn agreed, "but it _is_ the departure port for her five day, four night South American cruise. She's supposed to start her week's vacation tomorrow—the one her boss has known about for _months_. Anyone want to lay odds on whether or not she'll be on that ship when it returns? Anyone? I've got two kids to put through college now. I could use the money."

"Okay, hotshot," Lassiter said, annoyed at how well this was all fitting together. "You know so much. What's her motive for all of this?"

"That one I can't answer."

Lassiter's eyebrows went up. "But you knew everything else."

"Yeah, but all of that I could see or hear or smell. There was nothing that I've found that indicates any kind of motive. If I were _really_ psychic, I might be able to help you out there," he added. "But I'm not, remember?" Then he slapped Lassiter on the shoulder.

"Look on the bright side, Lassie. That means you get to contribute something. Go scare an explanation out of her."

Lassiter glared and Shawn grinned. "Oooh . . . That's a good one. Use that face and and she'll crack in no time."

Karen smiled and decided that now was a good time to intervene before things got out of hand. Shawn had given them enough to investigate at least and if it turned out to be true, she had confidence that Lassiter could handle it on his own.

"Thank you, Mr. Spencer. Your help has, once again, been invaluable."

Shawn grinned. "Any time, Chief."

"Now I don't want to see you in my office for at least a week," she added, "though when you do come back I expect pictures."

Shawn laughed. "As if you could stop me."

Karen nodded and started to leave, following in the trail that Lassiter had blazed as soon as she'd started her thank you.

She stopped at the door and half turned back.

"Oh and one more thing. I don't expect you to spend your time off this week on it, but you will need to acquire a _real_ private investigator's license. Just in case there are future difficulties with your 'abilities'."

He nodded. "Yes, Chief." It was a much lighter sentence than he'd expected and he wasn't going to push the limits of her generosity.

She nodded in return and left.

"Wow," Gus said and sank into a chair. "She knew all this time . . ."

"Yeah," Shawn said, taking the other chair. There was a moment of silence and then he looked up at his father. "And you knew that she knew."

Henry just smiled and patted Jaime's back. "I'm going to take him home to sleep in a bed. We'll be back later tonight with something to eat that's not marked 'for institutional use only'."

"Dad," Shawn said warningly.

"Bye, Shawn."

"Dad!"

"You did good, kid."

The door shut behind him and Shawn debated following him—for half a second.

Then the nurse appeared with Anna in her arms for the next feeding. Shawn jumped up and carefully took his daughter, cooing and making faces as he carried her over to Juliet.

"Is someone hungry?" he asked in a bright voice that was completely at odds with everything that was Shawn Spencer as far as most of the world was concerned. "Anna is!" he said and waved a finger in front of her face which she hit as she gently flailed her arms newborn-style. It was completely by accident but Shawn's grin stretched, threatening to break something if it went much further.

"Well," Gus said, when he realized that's what was going to happen. "I'm going to go now," he said, watching Juliet take Anna and situate her for dinner. It was under a blanket, but still. This was _Juliet_.

"I've got . . . paperwork . . ." he said lamely. "So I'm just . . . gonna . . . go now." He winced when Juliet giggled and cooed at her daughter.

"Oh, Gus?" Juliet said right as he reached the door.

"Yes?" he asked and turned back, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

"I'm sorry about Janelle."

Gus blinked, then realized who she was talking about. "Oh . . . well . . ." he stammered.

"It wasn't my place to interfere," she continued. "It's just, when Shawn told me he saw her with that other guy . . ." She had the grace to look sheepish. "It was a bad day, hormone-wise. I might have overreacted a little."

"No, it's cool," Gus assured her. "Really. I appreciate you looking out for me."

Juliet smiled in gratitude for his forgiveness. "She wasn't right for you anyway. You deserve more."

"Yeah. I know." He started to leave again, then stopped and turned back. "Just out of curiosity, what _did_ you say to her?"

Her blush deepened and she lifted the blanket under the pretense of checking on Anna.

Shawn, however, wasn't so bashful.

"Dude, you should have seen it. It was _awesome_. Ow!" he said when Juliet elbowed him in the ribs. 'Later,' he mouthed and Gus nodded.

"Okay. I'll see you guys tomorrow then."

He left, taking a moment outside the door to exhale all the stress that had built up over the day.

He needed a vacation.

o.o

Since Lassiter's car had been blown up they took Karen's back to the station to begin chasing down Shawn's information. It was quiet most of the way until Lassiter couldn't resist any longer.

"You know, knowing how he does it is only part of the explanation. A photographic memory and sharp eyes will only get you so far. How does he get to where he _can_ see some of this stuff?"

Karen just smiled and shook her head. "That's the part we may never figure out, Detective. You should probably just get used to it."

Lassiter grunted but didn't argue. If he hadn't by now, he doubted he'd ever get used to working with Shawn Spencer.

* * *

Review, please and thank you. :D


	14. Epilogue: Home Again, Home Again

Epilogue: Home Again, Home Again

Holy rusted metal, Psychman! We're here already?

I think I'm gonna cry.

:..(

This has been such an awesome journey and I'd like to thank everyone that took the time to come along and share the trip. Your reviews made my days a little brighter.

Another huge thanks to my rocking betas Lily and Luna. You girls were a huge help in making this story so much fun and I'll be forever grateful that you didn't let me embarrass myself by posting the piddly little piece of poop it was before. ;D

Unfortunately, it's time to say goodbye to this particular fic.

The good news is, I'm not quite done dabbling in this universe just yet. :D Expect more adventures down the road with Jaime and Anna and all of the cast we already know and love. :D

Okay enough with the mushy stuff. Let's finish this out with one more visit to ol' Lassie-face, shall we?

* * *

When he arrived home that night Dinah was waiting on the porch as usual and he crouched down to scratch her ears. She purred and rubbed her jaw against his hand.

He straightened slowly and with a hiss of pain, then unlocked the door and followed his feline companion inside.

He sifted through the mail, saw there was nothing interesting, and dropped it on the side table just inside the entryway.

With the pace of a man who was looking forward to taking more pain pills soon, he made his way back into the kitchen and then stopped cold in the doorway.

Sitting in the center of his dining room table was a plate of pale dessert bars with magenta colored ribbons running through the middle. Raspberry bars.

He made his way over, stopping at the fridge for a glass of milk and at the sink to retrieve the bottle of Tylenol he kept there.

When he finally reached the table he sat down and slowly pulled the plate towards him.

Perched on top was a white envelope and he picked it up and flipped it over to open it.

The card inside was white and blank on the front. Opening it up revealed a single, small, typewritten word: Thanks.

He thought about it for a moment—wondered how Shawn had managed to get into his house and past his security, really—then decided that for tonight he didn't care, and set the card aside with a smile.

Selecting one of the bars he bit into it and closed his eyes with pleasure. These were definitely Juliet's raspberry bars.

He finished it, taking his time and licking each of his fingers when he was done, then he rose and went back to the entryway.

Retrieving his briefcase he made his way back to the table and sat down, then opened it up.

He pulled the slim jewel case from the zip-lock bag and looked at it once more, flipping it over.

Since the sender was in custody and already buried under a mountain of evidence and the secret was out, there was really no reason to keep this particular piece.

He gripped the disk and case in both hands and with a quick flex of his wrists snapped it in half.

Then he dropped it in the trash and chose another raspberry bar.

* * *

I already blabbered on in the pre-story notes so I'm just gonna say once more: THANKS FOR BEING THE BEST READERS EVER!

See you soon!

Maja


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